


Mirror Mirror

by whizzy, Zaganthi (Caffiends)



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Everyone is competent, M/M, Mirror Universe, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover Missions, backstabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-21
Updated: 2007-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 65,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whizzy/pseuds/whizzy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiends/pseuds/Zaganthi
Summary: The thief let a breath of smoke out of the edge of his mouth. It was strange that he didn't even shift his feet. Either the man was a very patient thief of some skill -- though, not much intelligence to have been caught! -- or he was a mid-level Soviet officer under-cover and completely unwilling to blow his cover.Klaus was lucky he couldn't see those thoughts turning through the Britain's mind; if he could, he would have snapped with rage. That rage was famous in Panzer, a man who got what he wanted, for the price he wanted, and if blood-shed happened, well, it happened. "'s been a while since I've been caught. You should be fucking proud of yourself.""Not for catching a stupid criminal," was the blonde's haughty response, going a good way to inviting that lurking rage. The gun he'd held to the German's head -- just a little thing, all engraved chrome with a mother-of-pearl handle -- was now tucked back into its hip holster. The thief's weapon, a large calibre monster, he tapped against his hand as he circled thoughtfully. "I catch enough smart ones that my ego doesn't care for a victory I didn't have to expend any real effort to achieve."





	1. Chapter 1

It was a perfect break in, waiting to happen.

He'd pulled hundreds and hundreds of quick, perfect heists in his life, and this would be no different. His car was parked at the base of the castle, hidden in brush, and the hike up the steep hill it sat atop was refreshing.

He'd also gone to the trouble of profiling the owner, and the house's layout. It would be simple to break in, grab the painting, and then run...

Better, he was halfway done! A back window on the top story was pried open carefully, and then he slipped silently into the darkened room -- the same room that would hold the painting!

He knew it from reputation alone. Pieces in the collection it belonged to were never loaned, never catalogued or photographed. Those visitors who had been shown the painting recalled being impressed by the haughty smile of the long-dead noble whose portrait it was. They could never remember being given the artist's name, and he couldn't guess if the owner himself even knew it.

The artist was unimportant anyway. His want for the painting stemmed from a worth other than provenience. He did not intend to sell it...

Black-booted feet, heavily gripped in rubber so he wouldn't stumble on the run back down the hill, carried him soundlessly across the room towards this goal. It was lovely, the detail work so exquisite it might as well have been a photograph...

/Don't linger,/ he warned himself, pulling a piece of thick black material from the pack he had thrown over one shoulder. A quick toss, and the smirking face was covering, enshrouded in heavy black while the thief got his hands in grip at either side and began to oh so very carefully slid it up off the mounting.

His care was for naught. The precious painting had just cleared its mounting when he felt a cold, familiar circle press firmly into the back of his head. Gravity quickly took the artwork from stunned hands to the floor in a loud clatter, and it was only after the room had returned to silence that his captor spoke.

"And what do we have here...?" a light tenor inquired, its accent British and highly amused.

The thief's hands slid skywards for the moment as he looked over his options while there was a gun pressed firmly at the base of his skull. Hundreds flickered, but none that assured him survival.

"You're lucky," he commented, still not moving from his position of facing the wall. "Very lucky."

"And you're quite stupid."

There was a snap of more cold metal at one of his raised wrists, and a soft metallic jangle as it was forced down. Handcuffs. Who on earth kept handcuffs near when they slept? For certainly at this time of night the castle's inhabitants should have been slumbering in their beds!

"The other hand now, behind your back and slowly," the voice requested. It could be polite and still expect obedience, when backed up by the threat of the gun muzzle buried in the thief's hair.

"Had many break ins for this painting?" He obeyed even as he spoke, both hands coming down behind his back. The second cuff locked closed and he wanted -- very badly -- to laugh. Standard police cuffs. He could get them open in a second, while the owner of the house turned his back at some point. And the man hadn't even noticed the very discreet black shoulder holster he wore.

But once cuffed, the thief dared to turn around, pivoting slowly where he stood. The chill barrel of the gun brushed his lip, and the thief registered the sensation as he looked at his temporary captor. He could make out planes and lines in the near perfect darkness, enough to know it was a thin, tall man, long hair, probably a good face... "Might as well turn on a light."

"The painting...?" Maddeningly -- though as holder of the gun he was allowed it -- the captor laughed, a lighter, freer sound than ever had passed the thief's lips. "You expect me to believe you've come for that painting? I was baiting you before, but now I see that you truly *are* stupid."

A hand materialised from the darkness, settling on the intruder's shoulder in an effort to steer him to the wall and the light switch, unintentionally touching the strap of the holster and recognising it immediately for what it was. More laughter, quiet this time, almost sensual, as the hand slowly slipped down the thief's chest, relieving him of his firearm. "Yes... I think light is needed, to see what *other* surprises you have hidden on your person."

A dozen stumbled steps, then muted, museum quality light flooded the room, followed by a soft gasp from the captor.

"Oh... My goodness!"

Both men were surprised.

NATO. Fucking NATO. The British man who owned the collection, a renowned earl, fop and flounce was... fucking NATO. It explained the gun and the arrogance to the thief, as he took in markings on the man's uniform quickly, filing them away. There was also the errant thought that the man with the curly blonde hair and big blue eyes looked just like the man in the painting.

So this was Earl Dorian Red Gloria. Standing tall in a well fitted uniform, bearing the markings of a Major. /I should have realised. I should have done more research, not been so fucking confident.../ The thief was kicking himself now for not having done the proper research himself. It had been so long since the last time he'd been caught...

"Well, fuck." There was a particular edge to his thickly accented voice as his eyes alighted on his gun, held in the NATO man's hands.

Those large blue eyes recovered quickly from their shock, no less large for having done so, but now brimming with a curious intelligence. "No, thank you. We haven't even been properly introduced."

His captive was surprising on so many levels that Dorian was having a difficult time deciding which was the strongest. That he'd made it over the fence and to the castle's walls undetected was either luck or skill; neither had held against the intricate security system -- NATO's latest developments in that area -- that had been tripped as he'd come through the window.

Taken in pieces, the man's appearance was not unusual. Every day Dorian was in the field he faced eyes as flat and brittle, jaws set as stubbornly, shoulders as broad and loaded with the strength of muscle. Taken as a proper composition, the man was unnerving for his fierce beauty.

It wasn't often Dorian relished patting down enemy agents. The mere thought of putting his hands on Mischa usually set his stomach to roil. What he felt as he conducted his leisurely search of the unknown German was quite the opposite, though centred in his stomach just the same. "I don't suppose you'll make this easy on us both and just tell me who sent you?" he asked cheerfully, finishing with no more weapons discovered.

"Sent me...?" It took a moment to process, that question, and when the NATO man stood upright again, he met those blue eyes with a flat grey-green gaze. "I don't know what you mean. I came here to steal The Man in Red."

"Dear old Cousin Benny?" the blonde asked incredulously. His eyes flicked to the painting in question, a full-length portrait of his distant ancestor, Benedict the Red. "What on earth do your Soviet masters want with him? Going to try to blackmail me with proof that the men in my family used to wear tights?"

"Soviet?!" The thief almost strangled on that word, obviously outraged. Flat eyes seemed to have been struck with flint for a moment, flaring threateningly to life. "I'm not fucking Soviet! I'm loyal to Westdeutschland!" It was hard to stay still, to not lunge... no, not yet. Later he would, snap this man's neck, and be done with it.

But for the moment, the intruder stayed still, quietly snarling with his gaze at the man who'd caught him.

The man weighed briefly the little information he'd gleaned about the thief from appearance and speech, and finally gave a dismissive shrug. "We'll know the truth soon enough. Tomorrow I'm taking you in, to be fingerprinted and photographed and questioned. For tonight..."

Tonight he was weary after the surveillance job from hell. Twenty-two hours watching some damned *woman* in the company of Agent James' fawning and not enough coffee was enough to make even the most reasonable man a bit peckish. And Dorian -- or rather, Eroica, his NATO codename -- had a reputation far beyond reasonable. Downright impetuous was more like it.

Taken in...? Taken *in*? No, Klaus von dem Eberbach would NOT be taken in! Once his fingerprints were processed he'd be quickly identified as Panzer, and then, he'd be rotting in an ICPO prison cell until he could break free. /I'll escape before then,/ he told himself with assurance, levelling a flat gaze at the British man who'd thwarted what was supposed to have been a perfect job.

"For tonight...?" he pressed impatiently.

The blonde eyed him critically, a flicker of... something in bright sapphire. "For tonight, 's a pity you're the enemy, because I'm tense as hell and could've used a good fuck."

Shock registered in sharp green eyes that went wide. "You fucking pervert! Get the hell away from me!"

Pervert... perhaps. Fucking? Sadly, not this night. The blonde laughed again, and began to pat down his pockets. Finding what he was looking for, he fitted a cigarette to his lips. It stayed there, bobbing lightly with speech as hunted for his lighter. "Don't worry, Darling. It's against NATO policy to rape prisoners. Besides, you've eyes like slate and very likely a personality to match. You're not my type."

"Gut." *Wonderful* to know, in fact, but it still didn't ease Klaus' nerves any, shifting his stance to something that was damn near parade rest; perhaps it didn't help that his hands were stuck behind his back. "Can I have a smoke? I didn't know I was a NATO prisoner."

The request halted a lit, flickering lighter half way to the blonde's lips. "You want fag, eh?" he purred, delighting in the look of discomfort that flitted across the German's face. "Very well. Admit first that you knew you were a NATO prisoner. I saw you studying my uniform."

"I was trying to figure out why the security was better than I anticipated," Klaus told him with a frown. "But I haven't committed any crime against NATO, so I should not be a NATO prisoner." Interpol, now... oh, that idiot from Interpol would be delighted to get his hands on him, even if it was just for the few moments before Klaus found a way to escape. Preferably in a hail of bullets.

That thought more than made up for the humiliation he was suffering just then.

"You have committed a crime against my personal premises, at the very least," Dorian informed his sullen prisoner, finally finishing the motion of lighting his cigarette. The very one which had spent such time clasped between the blonde man's lips was offered to the brunette with a smile. "You can consider this a citizen's arrest, if it makes you feel better." Though not actually caught pilfering secrets, he was under *suspicion* of crimes against NATO as well.

"Fine." Oh, and now to get a nicotine fix to ride out the surge of wasted adrenaline he'd built up to get away cleanly, he had to put his lips on the smoke that had been dangling from that faggot's mouth... /Don't give him any more pleasure by flinching back. Perverts like this enjoy a good reaction. Sick fucker./ He had to lean forwards a little to catch it between his lips, but he did, then returned to his former position. Quite adept at smoking without his hands, that much was apparent to Dorian.

Enemy agents usually were. Came from so much time spent in handcuffs, he supposed... Putting a Soviet in a room to simmer for a few hours without his cigarettes was almost as good as hot lights and sleep depravation for wringing information from them.

Though Dorian had never found those tactics as effective as seduction, nor nearly as much fun.

"What should I do with you for the remainder of the night...?" the blonde agent mused, mostly to himself, as his lips procured another cigarette. What was the most uncomfortably room in the castle? That was where the German should have to wait out the time until morning, punishment for stealing any of Dorian's precious sleep-time, and for mistreating poor Benedict so.

"Do you think I care?"

Oooh, testy.

The thief let a breath of smoke out of the edge of his mouth. It was strange that he didn't even shift his feet. Either the man was a very patient thief of some skill -- though, not much intelligence to have been caught! -- or he was a mid-level Soviet officer under-cover and completely unwilling to blow his cover.

Klaus was lucky he couldn't see those thoughts turning through the Britain's mind; if he could, he would have snapped with rage. That rage was famous in Panzer, a man who got what he wanted, for the price he wanted, and if blood-shed happened, well, it happened. "'s been a while since I've been caught. You should be fucking proud of yourself."

"Not for catching a stupid criminal," was the blonde's haughty response, going a good way to inviting that lurking rage. The gun he'd held to the German's head -- just a little thing, all engraved chrome with a mother-of-pearl handle -- was now tucked back into its hip holster. The thief's weapon, a large calibre monster, he tapped against his hand as he circled thoughtfully. "I catch enough smart ones that my ego doesn't care for a victory I didn't have to expend any real effort to achieve."

What good was a give-away prize? Capture for Eroica had always been secondary to the hunt, both in seduction and in bringing criminals to justice.

"Don't break the gun -- 's fucking expensive," Klaus couldn't help but snarl as he levelled an angry gaze as the blonde each time he circled. "I fucked up this time -- but I'm not stupid. Just wait until you run checks on me. You'll fucking regret that you ever decided to give me your name."

"It's a very *big* gun," the blonde remarked, somehow turning a simple statement into something horribly indecent with the addition of a slow sweep of eyes raked up his captive's body. "Such a dangerous toy to be playing with... We need to make it a bit less so, eh?" He casually pulled the clip, flicking bullets out with his thumb to patter to the marble floor like hail, until it was empty. And then, on a hunch...

"And one already in the chamber. I'm impressed." Another mark against the German's story. No thief was so professional with a firearm. "I haven't told you my name, by the way," he added, that last bullet skittering across the floor. "Although you must already know it's Lord Gloria. Even if your research wasn't particularly thorough, anybody in town could have told you *that*."

Sharp ice glittered in green eyes, anger dancing behind them. If the man was an enemy agent, he'd just made a horribly dangerous enemy. "Lord Dorian Red Gloria, renowned art collector, pervert," he said sharply, as if it were being read from a dossier. "NATO was not mentioned." A thinning of his lips, and he looked over the man's uniform again. No, he wore it properly. It wasn't just a front. Another slow drag taken from his cigarette and the taste suddenly went wrong; with a cough, he spat out the filter that he'd smoked down to. Still coughing some, he glared up at the Britain as if that had been his fault. "Are we going to stand here all evening?"

"You have me at a disadvantage, *sir*," Dorian drawled, completing another circle around his captive. When he reappeared, the weapons had traded places, the thief's large gun tucked into his waistband as it wouldn't fit the holster, his own small, elegant weapon in his hand, motioning. "One which I assume you intend to keep me at. Now, the door, if you please. I've finally decided what to with you."

"Gut." He did move towards the door, turning his head to take in the intricate security system that surrounded the window. Next time... next time he would do it right, dammit! "You will remain at a disadvantage until I am taken into custody." Which would not happen. The moment the man left him alone, he'd slip the cuffs and escape.

But as Dorian reached past him to open the door into the hallway, Klaus was aware of something. Eyes -- the professional in him sensed it, that the NATO man behind him was watching him intensely. He half-turned, looking over his shoulder, and caught where the man's gaze was.

"Fucking pervert." One more notch against the agent!

"You sound like a broken record, Darling," the agent pointed out helpfully, in his maddeningly even and light tone. The precise quality which made it so maddening Klaus finally identified as a sort of odd familiarity, tangible like a caress, which made his skin crawl unpleasantly to hear. "Is that the extent of your vocabulary of vulgar English? Feel free to switch to German, or Soviet even. I'm fluent in both."

"[What else are you fluent in?]" Klaus asked, switching to Italian as he was paced down the repetitive halls of the castle. "[Very much?]" That was asked in French. Both Italian and French were surprisingly clear, his accent mostly repressed before he switched to German. "[I cannot speak Soviet. Nothing more than 'da' and 'nyet'. You are wasting your time suspecting me of being a Soviet.]"

His brief words in Italian earned Klaus a blank look from his captor, but French was met with a bemused smile. "[Darling, *everyone* can speak French. But I'd just about rather eat my boots than spend any length of time in Italy.]" If he hadn't understood, the lilt and cadence of the language had been easily recognisable. Back to English, as he finished, "As for you *being* Soviet, I know you are not. Doesn't mean you're not working for them."

At turns Dorian indicated directions with a wave of his gun. Thus directing his captive, he took him a short way down a small hallway and into an empty side room lined with shelves, which had probably at one time served as a linen closet. "Here's a good enough place for you, for the time being," the prickly German was told, as Dorian backed for the door. "But I doubt it would hold against an extended effort at escape. So as soon as I ready a more... suitable place, I'll come back for you."

Another step, and he turned again at the door, adding as an afterthought, "By the way... I hope you won't mind that the dungeon is a little drafty. I would have remodelled with all the modern comforts, but I never expected to have the need to put someone down there!"

Klaus was quiet and unmoving until the door was closed. Then he bent forwards, working the cuffs as far down against the meat of his palms as he could manage. Just the leeway he'd need to shift his cuffed hands past his ass to rest against the backs of his thighs, still bent that way. Then, just as smoothly as all of his other motions, he shifted, rolling from that strange crouch down onto his back, weight carrying through to his shoulders, where he held.

And then slipped his long lean legs down with a bit of bending that left his cuffed hands now at the front of his body.

Klaus stood again, reaching at the inside waist-band of his sleek black pants, pulling free a pick that he positioned in his teeth, bringing his cuffed hands up to his mouth to work quickly at them.

The stupid limey had underestimated him.

~~~~~~~

Dorian's thoughts were the mirror of those as he stood before the empty spot on his gallery wall, which had until recently housed The Man in Red. Returning from his foray into the dungeon, it should have been an easy thing to check the portrait over for damage and replace it on its hangers, straight and proper.

He could not do either, with the painting conspicuously absent from the room.

/It would seem that I underestimated that German fellow..../ Dorian mused tiredly, raking an unhappy hand through his heavy curls. No sleep for him yet, it would appear. A break-in and capture, and subsequent escape by a suspected enemy agent was a matter of immediate priority, one NATO needed to deal with while the trail was warm. The German could still be in the area, could possibly be taken back into custody.

He needn't investigate the little closet to know it would be empty, the lock on the door picked somehow, and its captive gone.

Back out into the hallway, and Dorian headed for the kitchen, where he might find a telephone and hopefully some coffee. In order of priority though, coffee turned out to be the more pressing, and he got a pot of it brewing before he even considered reaching for the phone.

Fingers made clumsy by tiredness slowly dialled a familiar number. When ringing on the other end was answered, Dorian muttered, "Hallo, Bonham. Yes -- I know I just got off duty. But I've got a bit of a... situation here..."

~~~~~~~

"[Worst fucking try in years,]" Klaus informed the young blonde man who opened the door after his perfect series of raps fell against the nondescript wood of the door. After snagging the painting properly, he'd made it down the hill to his car and driven off quickly. If anyone had followed him, they'd been completely lost. He'd dodged any car that had been in his rear-view for more than two blocks; it had taken and extra half an hour, but safety was all important after his close call. "[A, pull up everything you can about NATO in London. Everything. And investigate a 'Major Gloria'.]"

After handing the loot of the evening to B, he stormed down the short hallway to the main room and snatched his smokes off of the table.

The three thieves in the front hallway exchanged worried looks after watching their leader stalk down the hall, reaching by mutual consent the decision of which among them would go after him. The young blonde, Z, was an obvious favourite of Panzer's, and was less likely to be yelled at or hit -- or even shot -- than his fellows for asking indelicate questions.

"[Thanks a lot, guys,]" Z muttered, slinking down the hallway after Panzer and whatever punishment might come from disturbing him in so foul a mood.

At the door to the bedroom Panzer had claimed as his, Z knocked lightly. "[Panzer...? All the men are gathered for news of the heist, and for new orders. What shall I tell them?]"

"[Tell them nothing,]" Klaus uttered, smoking furious, with another cigarette at ready. He was sprawled a bit stiffly across the bed, laying on his back as he tried to relax for a moment. "[Who did research on this originally, Z? Was it you?]"

The door he'd cursed as an inhibitor to conversation Z now was intensely grateful for, as through it he couldn't see just *how* angry Panzer was. He sounded no angrier than usual when in the odd instance something went wrong in a heist, but that was plenty angry enough! Z had seen weapons drawn and shots fired when he was in a better mood.

"[Y-yes Panzer, it was.]" He and G, and G had done the bulk of it, but Z was safer from any truly vicious punishment for screwing up than the petite little thief. "[Something was wrong with the data? Had the layout of the house changed? Was the painting not where you'd expected it to be?]"

"[HE'S A FUCKING NATO OFFICER!!! WHY the FUCK wasn't I TOLD this?!!!]" Now, NOW he could be grateful for that door! "[Get in here now, Z. Get in here now, and I won't shoot you through the door.]"

"[I-impossible, Panzer,]" the youth stammered, slipping through the door with speed and a thief's typical grace. "[I was s-standing next to it, just in case...]" Always truthful to a fault to those he was loyal to, that quirk was one of many which endeared the sombre young man to his leader.

As for the matter of the Earl being NATO... "[I'm sorry you weren't informed. We ran the usual background checks, and turned up nothing unusual.]" Which left the question of how Panzer had discovered that fact.

"[The rank of 'Major', probably in intelligence, is nothing unusual?!]" His boss was standing now, in the middle of the room, still smoking furiously. "[The system was more high calibre than I suspected. Than you told me to expect -- and I was fucking caught. If I hadn't have escaped, I'd be rotting in an ICPO cell within twelve hours, and it would be *your* fault!!]"

"[You were caught?!?]" That fell from stunned lips before Z could register the thought, and he flushed violently after. "[I didn't- There was no mention of NATO in any of the files we pulled, and wouldn't be if he's intelligence. We had no way of knowing this was anything other than a normal job. The security system -- we stole the plans from the contractor who'd installed it! They must have been falsified.]" All good excuses against his fault in Klaus' capture, but excuses nonetheless.

Panzer was notoriously un-fond of excuses.

"[You fucking screwed up. Cost me my favourite gun,]" Klaus snapped, picking up the hand-gun that was resting atop the nearest dresser. Leaving Z praying it wasn't loaded yet, though Klaus kept all of his guns loaded. He didn't aim yet -- no, Klaus was studying the weapon, lips thinned in anger. "[But I got the god-damned painting, and I got out.]"

He shifted it tighter into the grip of his hand. "[And now I want my gun back from that smart-assed fucking NATO agent!]"

It was probably, in retrospect, a bad thing for Z to have allowed his eyes to flick to the empty holster tucked under Klaus' arm.

"[The m-magnum?]" If NATO had it, it was as good as lost, likely rotting in some evidence vault already. Panzer surely knew this as well, only Panzer wasn't the rational man his underling was. Panzer didn't know when to take his losses and quit the table gracefully. For a matter of pride, Panzer would throw a small fortune in manpower and hours of exhausting work at a problem. And the frightening thing was, more often than not he won out, through sheer tenacity alone.

The gun in Panzer's hand Z eyed warily, as if it were a poisonous snake he'd discovered coiled in the middle of his path.

"[Yes, the Magnum. That fucking perverted faggot took my god-damned Magnum!]"

And then, the coiled snake struck, Klaus lifting, sighting flawlessly, and then pulling the trigger. The shot that rang out on the small room certainly sounded like a small earthquake, and to those outside his bedroom door...

It was the outer wall that took the bullet, and not the body of his youngest underling. With a frustrated noise, Klaus flicked the safety back on the gun, and tossed it onto the dresser once more, picking up another cigarette to light. "[And I will get it back. Leave. I want, within the hour, data on London's NATO head-quarters. I'll be making another break-in tonight. Wake me up in thirty minutes.]"

~~~~~~~

The Major who greeted a contingent of his team at the front door -- the steadily dependable Bonham among them -- was a far cry different from the cocky, flirtatious man who had confronted a thief in his picture gallery a scant hour before. The Major -- or Eroica, as he was fondly called by his men -- could shed his foppish facade like the costume it was, the instant duty called. " 'bout time you lot showed up," he croaked, gesturing with a very large mug, half full of coffee. Fine sapphire eyes were veined with heavy red and blinked too often, signs of sleep depravation, but at the same time held an almost manic glint. A testament to the enormous amounts of caffeine and excitement no doubt surging through his veins.

"Upstairs, I think you'll want to begin." That was to Bonham, and he motioned for his men to follow after adding, "And take someone outside and scour the grounds for prints and signs of a vehicle, Peters." There must have been one -- The Man in Red was far too heavy and cumbersome to transport on foot for far -- and it would have left tracks unless it had been of the airborne sort. And Dorian would have heard a helicopter depart, even in the dungeon.

"What'd the man look like?" Bonham asked as they started up to the gallery. "I'll have a write-up ready to run on him the moment we go back tomorrow, sir. If he was a Soviet, it's probably the most ballsy thing they've tried yet." And they had tried some ballsy things, everything from tampering with the power to trying to blow up the Major's car!

"Not Soviet," Eroica corrected, glancing back fondly to the agent who was, for all intents and purposes, his second. "German, by his own admission, and I'm inclined to believe him." The all-important distinguisher of East or West would be determined later, when they ran the man through NATO's databases.

"I'd give him three inches on my height, two not including the soles of his shoes, which looked very thick. Probably a good twenty pounds heavier, too. His shoulders were broad." And had tapered to a trim waist and below that, long, long lean legs... But that was best not added to the description. "Early thirties, I'd put him. Shoulder-length hair, very dark, cut neatly. Strong features, green eyes. Arrogant. I suspect that and his temper regularly lead him into trouble."

"He didn't hit you, did he sir?" Bonham asked as he opened the door of the gallery room. A quick sweep showed an open window, a bare wall, and part of a cigarette butt on the floor, with a smatter of ash. "He smokes? And that heavy painting, out a window..."

"That heavy painting, out a window and somehow down to the ground, all assumably without damaging it. And he *does* smoke, like a cigarette was his mother's own nourishing teat. Right to the filter -- you should have seen the look on his face when he got a lung full of- Oh -- careful of the bullets there," he cautioned, as agents spread out to nose for clues. "He wouldn't have been expecting to leave them behind, unfired at any rate, and they may have prints."

Nothing else would; the thief had worn black leather gloves. Eroica sighed, rubbing unhappily at the bridge of his nose. "And no, he didn't hit me. If I'd put him somewhere more secure than the hall closet, he'd be in custody still." A raised honey-gold brow inquired silently why Bonham had thought hitting had been involved.

"How'd you know he's violent and has a temper, sir?" Bonham questioned as three men picked up the bullets carefully with gloved fingers and bagged each separately. The intruder had probably thought it best to ignore that evidence in favour of getting the painting. The older agent looked from the bare gallery wall, and then to the window. Not smashed in any way or form. Before Dorian could answer him, Bonham instructed two men to see how the window was opened in the first place. Especially since it locked from the inside.

The shorter agent earned himself a bark of laughter for his question. "Oh, Bonham! You know what a keen appraiser of personality I am, and this man simply exuded violence. Violent temper, violent words, all cocked and ready to explode at a moment's notice."

Now, with wide eyes, Bonham looked at the bare wall in confusion. "Why would a chap like that steal The Man in Red?"

Eroica smiled a mirthless smile, and touched a hand to his friend's shoulder. "That, my dear fellow, is precisely the question which has been troubling me all night."

~~~~~~~

Windows, he liked to think, were his speciality.

Doors were, of course, easier, and one could also rest their feet as they worked. But Klaus was a man who sought high adrenaline and high challenge in his break-ins. The harder it was, the better -- and loosening the casing of a window in the NATO intelligence building, while clinging to the wall with nothing more supporting him than an eye-hook he'd slipped in a crack, was nothing if not hard!

But the work paid off when the window slid up and he unhooked the harness from the eye-hook and slipped in through the window.

What his hirelings had gone though to attain both the information on Major Gloria and a rough floor plan of London's NATO office, within the hour he'd allotted them, Panzer didn't care. Palms had been greased and asses kissed, favours called in and the odd blackmail as well, and, failing all those other means, the threat of violence. By the time Z had woken Panzer at the appointed time he was frazzled and glassy-eyed, but had redeemed himself completely.

There was nothing in the tidy little office Klaus entered that immediately marked it as belonging to the Major. That changed as he neared the desk, and saw upon it a single large red rose in a bud vase. Its scent tickled unpleasant memory; the owner of the desk had had that same scent around him not three hours before.

"Fag."

A sighed word muttered under his breath as he plucked the rose out of the vase, and began to methodically strip the petals off the beautiful flower. It wasn't out of some wildly vicious whim -- no, it was out of a whim that was a controlled sort of viciousness. Each one plucked free carefully, laid in two neat stacks of the curling red petals, the barren stem shoved back into the vase.

It was then, and only then -- while looking at the two neat little stacks of petals and chuckling to himself at the look the Major would have when he saw that come morning -- that Klaus pulled out his calling card and set it down on the desk. Then began to rifle through the man's desk for a pen to write with.

The cigarettes he found were pocketed.

Nothing else he found in any of the drawers -- unlocked, locked or secret -- held any interest for the thief. Perhaps if he actually *had* been an agent working for the Soviets... But paper secrets had never been his wares, and he was more than a little loathe to take away with him anything too intimately linked to the blonde Major.

His search did net him several pens, all ridiculous, sleek fountain pens of the type favoured by fat bankers and, apparently, fag NATO agents. It made his fingers itch uncomfortably to write with it.

If he'd been just a few minutes earlier in coming, he could saved himself some trouble. Just as he was putting the finishing flourishes in his note, the sliver of light lapping beneath the office door became a wedge, and then a full arc as the door was pressed open. A slight figure more furtive than Panzer ever bothered to be slipped inside, closing the door again and turning on tiptoes before he realised that he was not alone in the room.

"AAAAHHH!!!"

"Good-fucking-bye!" Pen slid from his fingers, and he drew himself up to full height mere seconds before he clocked the tiny man with a half-strength punch that took consciousness from him. Only after he'd clipped the man's jaw did he drag him nearer the window to look at.

Pale, boyish face, brown hair curling around it, small, wearing a piecemeal suit that had small patches sewn into it. A little confusing for Panzer, as he dropped the presumed agent to the floor again. "More Fags." They just crawled out of the wood-work in this place! What the hell kind of place was NATO?! It was a terrible disrespect for such a powerful military agency...

The thin twine in Klaus' back pocket was put to use quickly, binding the young man's hands and ankles behind him. Then the man's own tie was used as a gag, before Klaus pulled the chair out from the desk, and carelessly tossed him into the space beneath the desk, before pushing the chair back into place.

Then, satisfied that there at last would be no more interruptions, Klaus picked up the finger-itching pen and finished the note to that damned major in sharp, precise script.

~~~~~~~

In the end, the investigation at Dorian's castle had taken several more hours and all of the Major's remaining energy. The normally even-tempered man grew snappish and increasingly incoherent, until finally Bonham had wrestled him into a side room and pushed him down on a divan and told him to stay put.

He had snagged an hour's rest there, and two more in bed after the investigation had concluded, and woke the next morning to the raucous cry of his alarm clock and the realisation that half of his discomfort came from the fact that he'd slept in his uniform, boots, holsters and all.

By varying his shower by turns blistering hot and prickly cold, he'd managed to drag himself into a semi-alert state. More coffee had helped the cause, although he'd opted to have his chauffeur drive him to the office as a precaution. At the door he was greeted by the usual rush of his team, bearing this morning rumours and questions instead of gossip. Was it true someone had broken into his house? Stolen a painting? Captured and escaped? Motive, identity, appearance?

It was an odd scene, to see the tall blonde agent awash in a sea of his fellows, trying to offer brisk answers and at the same time wade for the peace of his office, where he could hopefully hide for a few restful moments before being called in to report to the Chief. And he couldn't help but notice as he waded that in the excitement around him, the voice usually most shrill and fawning was not present. Blessedly, but worriedly also.

"Has anyone seen James...?"

"Uhm, no, sir!" Peters told him pleasantly enough as Dorian lingered just beside his office door, as of yet not opened. "He's probably playing at the bank -- I'm sure he'll report soon."

Well, that didn't strike him as *too* out of the ordinary, as he swung open his office door and then closed it behind him.

Office -- sweet, comfortable office. His filing cabinets, his window that was slightly ajar, his chair, his desk emitting a muffled thumping sound, the vase on his desk that bore only a stem, and the plies of rose-petals on his blotter, discreet piece of card-stock...

Something was clearly, *SHARPLY* amiss.

As neither the window nor the mutilated rose nor the card were quite so demanding in their attention as the complaining desk, the desk was attended to first. Dorian was a bit confused when a trip behind the desk did not yield the source of the noise, but soon discovered, when he pulled the chair out from its place, a very dishevelled and frantic-looking Agent James crammed in the tiny space which normally accommodated his knees.

If nothing else, the man would never live down the fact that he'd been gagged with his own tie. Eroica would see to that.

"Dear God!" As there was nothing else to do to extract the hog-tied agent, Dorian simply picked him up, setting him down in the chair and setting about immediately cutting his bonds. A small, utilitarian knife produced from somewhere on Eroica's person made neat work of the twine, and some fumbling behind James' head unknotted his tie. "Are you all right?"

"Ma~ajor Glo~oria!!!!!!!!! I was attacked by a monster!!!" James broke instantly into a hysteria, throwing himself at the Major, arms wrapped tightly around him. "A complete monster!!!"

"Let... me guess..." Breathing was a difficulty, not to mention talking, with James clinging so tightly to his neck. Eroica tried to dislodge his agent gently, while at the same time offering the awkward comfort of patting his back. "Large, dark shoulder-length hair, menacing green eyes?" There was no one else the blonde could recall thwarting recently who would be driven to such extreme lengths for revenge.

"Yes! He was a monster!!" James began to wail again.

It was then, moving back a little from his desk as best he could, that the two piles of rose-petals could be seen again, and the piece of card-stock that bore writing.

Almost, he reached for it. The urge was overpowering to examine the tight, precise script more closely, for all that he knew it would mean disturbing evidence.

"Shh, shh... Let's get you checked over, and then you can tell your story." Counting backwards, Dorian's mind discovered 5, perhaps 6 hours that James could have been tied beneath the desk. He was surely thirsty, and probably needed to use the restroom fiercely!

"I'm fine, I just don't want that monster ever coming near me aga~ain!!!" James wailed, right in Dorian's ear. "He was horrible!!!"

The Major winced, one eye blinking closed as he hunched that shoulder. He had to snap James out of his hysteria, before his wailing busted one of Dorian's eardrums. And it was perhaps cruel, but Dorian knew just the way to do it. "Oh, I don't know if I would go that far... He was intense, certainly, and arrogant, but also quite... intriguing."

It wasn't until after he'd spoken that he realised he'd meant the words.

"You're crushing on him?!!!! Sir!!!!!!"

James must have, too, because his wail only got worse!

Dorian finally had to let the poor agent go, for the sake of his own hearing. He couldn't tend to James all day, as much as the little man would have enjoyed it. No, his office had been broken into, and that needed to be taken care of quickly.

"I am not-"

But it was pointless arguing anything with the little agent, once he'd wrapped his mind around an idea. It came from a background in accounting, the Major supposed. All day long, fixating on tiny columns of numbers... It was a real shame that James was so adept at auditing and uncovering money laundering, because those skills made putting up with his quirks a necessity.

/I am not 'crushing' on him./ With James wailing incoherently, the only person Dorian could hope to have a legitimate discussion with was himself. /He is fascinating, but only because I haven't run into such a challenge in a very long time. I will enjoy greatly discovering his identity and tracking him down.../ Any more was unthinkable, because the German was every bit as horrible as James was painting him, and no sleek, gorgeous body was worth putting up with such a foul personality! /Even if we weren't on opposing sides of the law./

Satisfied in that line of reasoning, Dorian drug the still-hysterical James into the hall and down to the outer office, wincing when said hysterics immediately drew the attention of several of his men.

"Peter, please see to Agent James. There's been a break-in, and he's had a bit of a tangle with a mean-tempered, German brute. Jones, I'll need my office swept for evidence and bugs. And check the security tapes to see if there's a workable image to match against the database."

The men given orders broke into groups, quick and efficient -- and the first thing that Jones spotted inside the office was the card, which he grasped at the edges so as not to loose possible finger-prints.

"Sir!! Sir, this card..."

The card solved all questions of the man's identity.

"Sir, it's *Panzer*. The man is *Panzer*!!!" There was an edge to his voice as he shouted that to the Major still standing in the main office. Panzer was a thief and a killer with a hard reputation behind him.

No-one crossed him and lived for long. He wasn't above blackmail, but seemed to work mostly in the circles of precious pieces of art-work, and occasionally jewels. Famous for being strong enough to able to shoot a Magnum one-handed. Tall, strong, fanatically Western German, brilliant and hot-tempered.

The brilliant planning skills and hot temper probably cancelled each other out more often than they helped each other.

That was about all that came to Dorian's mind from a vague mention or two he'd heard about the thief over the years. No-one knew his real identity, and the ICPO had him on the top-ten list at nearly all times. They even had an officer who was supposed to work only to find Panzer -- although he was incompetent.

"He says, sir -- he says: 'I've got your painting, you've got my gun. Care to trade, Major Gloria? I'll show up for your answer in the next 24 hours.' "

Three things occurred to Dorian at once. First, that he would have to suspend his investigation into the terrorist activities of a suspected IRA member in favour of trying to land a more interesting fish. Second was that 'Panzer' was both worthy of his weighty reputation and far more complex than it had hinted. Pride had never been mentioned, though clearly it was greatly motivating to the man.

Third was that he hated these leaps in rational thought. He made them unconsciously, and at their end always found himself committed wholly to whatever conclusion they'd led him to.

Panzer was dangerous. Panzer was fascinating. Eroica would be the one to finally bring him in.

After having deposited James in the care of Peter, the Major returned to his office. A thorough investigation was already well underway, his men as always making him proud with their professionalism. Aside from the card and the mutilated rose, there was little evidence Panzer had left behind. No bugs, no fingerprints. Not even so much as a thread or a hair. What he'd taken had been even more curious. The mental run-own of everything he'd kept in his desk had turned up only two items missing, even though all his drawers had been ransacked.

Panzer had taken with him a black fountain pen and a pack of cigarettes. Not precisely a bountiful haul for such an infamous thief.

Then again, maybe the man had needed a pen to write with, and a smoke?

That was probably his biggest fault, pride aside. Was a gun worth *SO* much trouble? It was just a gun... trying to arrange an exchange could put the man's life on the line!

Or land his luscious ass in a prison cell -- and Dorian would be *more* than happy to assist him in getting there!

~~~~~

Once this shitty fiasco was said and done with, Klaus told himself that he'd never set foot in London until... well, for as long as possible. And only then if the money was going to be good enough to make it worthwhile. Better to rob the heritage of Italy or some other useless country for a while until his immense, severe dislike of Britons faded some.

That was the down-side of loathing a population -- it was easier to rob them without caring, and harder to stay in their midst. And during his stay in London, he'd only had proved, again and again, why he felt homesick when gone from Germany for every long.

The thief called A *knew* he shouldn't have taken his eyes of the road, even for a second, to steal a glance at his passenger. When he looked back the first thing he noticed was that he'd drifted into the right lane -- the wrong one, in the backwards Brit way of reckoning -- and that the car he drove was sharing its breadth with another vehicle.

One headed straight for them.

A terse motion of the wheel brought the Benz back into line. Thankfully a Benz was a nice, safe vehicle on top of being a very patriotic thing to drive, the reasons Panzer always procured one no matter what the situation. This particular car was dark and nondescript, freshly stolen.

There was no comment from his leader about the evasive manoeuvre, proving to A that Panzer was indeed deep in thought. That stolen glance had told him that the man's hard green eyes were closed, and that he wore the distant expression he often did when he was missing home. All the worse that he should interrupt, but there was no getting around the need. "Uh... Panzer? How much farther should I drive? We're a good hundred and fifty kilometres away from London now."

His opened his eyes in a snap, and he glanced coolly at his surroundings. "I want to be deep in the middle of no-where, A, do you understand me?" A long time ago, when he'd first started, A had had a name, and so had Z, and B, and all the others... but out of convenience of addressing them, he'd given them code-names, albeit uncreative ones. "We're going to cut him off from his men. I want him to be lost the moment he gets near me."

A hundred and fifty hundred kilometres of farmland and villages and woods wasn't enough to do that? A didn't dare let is questioning show in posture or expression, just settled into his seat and rearranged his grip on the wheel. "Okay." He'd drive through another few villages, and then begin taking some side roads. Hopefully he could find a spot secluded enough for Panzer's intents regarding the British NATO Major, whatever they might be.

Anyone sane didn't piss off Panzer -- and the British man, whatever his faults that had caused him to err so, probably didn't deserve the fate Panzer was creating for him. Brewing up in his mind even as A drove the car, and green-grey eyes slid closed again.

Long ago A had got past the point that silence disturbed him. In Panzer's presence, even the oppressive weight of his brooding was preferable to an outburst of fury, and it took only a misspoken word, a wrong look to send him from that one extreme to the other. So A drove in silence, carefully picking the smaller tributaries as they made their way farther upstream of the highways that poured traffic into London. Each turn, each name he committed meticulously to memory as he had no map, and Panzer would expect him to be able to get them both out again in the end.

Finally they ended up on a nameless road that was little more than a cart path through thick woods. When the trees' branches formed a canopy above, A decided that they'd gone far enough, and eased the car to a stop. "Will this do?"

He didn't get an answer until Panzer had risen from the vehicle, and glanced around into the thick brush. "Yes. I'll head about a hundred feet deeper in and wait. Have the NATO man contacted and tell him to arrive ASAP. Leave me the equipment."

The 'equipment' was a large, sleek stainless steel suitcase. A hurried round to get it out of the trunk, and then left it at Panzer's side before heading back to the vehicle. He watched just long enough to see the thief reach down without looking, his hand closing exactly on the handle of the suitcase as he picked the thing up and disappeared into the woods. Then he drove back to the nearest village and a telephone to recite exact directions for the rest of the gang.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait for the second phase of the operation to gather momentum. And there wasn't a reason in the world he couldn't do his waiting in the local pub over a pint...

~~~~~

A was off the hook for a few blessed minutes, while Z was put onto the hook, firmly. As the head of the second team of the operation, calling in to NATO Headquarters, directly to the Desk of Major Gloria, was his task.

Making a telephone call would seem simple enough -- unless you were a thief and trying valiantly not to get caught, and the people you were telephoning had at their disposal the latest phone tapping and tracking equipment... In the end he decided on a method Panzer probably wouldn't have approved of, but it was simple (if ingenious) and made *sense*, and it would ensure that a recorded sample of his voice didn't go into the official NATO records.

The telephone he chose to use was a public one -- thank the patron saint of criminals for that convenience! -- in a rather seedy section of town. A wad of cash bought him the services of a half-drunk bum, who was obliging enough to put his own fingerprints all over the telephone, and his own voice in record with NATO.

Not that Z told the man that in *quite* that way.

Still, it had to have been odd for the Major to answer the phone and get a chuckle to open he conversation with. "Yer... supposed to meet in the forest with a tank..."

One golden brow spoke expressive volumes as it set itself at a severe angle, Eroica's eyes raising sharply to Bonham even as he cupped a palm over the receiver. The damned thing had been thrust at him with only the briefest of explanations, that a man had demanded to speak to 'that queer Major' about trading a gun for a painting.

'Sir?' Bonham mouthed, hand lingering over the complicated device that would record the phone call at a moment's notice.

"Got that...?" the half-drunk voice slurred.

A sharp stabbing motion set Bonham to scurrying over the controls, and soon the machine was off and running silently.

"No -- wait..." Brows were synched again, both furrowed delicately over perplexed sapphire eyes. "I didn't get any of that. Listen -- is there any way you can stop mumbling?"

"Mumbling...? 'm not mumbling... 's not my thing. 'nyway... 's some pretty boy got me here..."

It took only seconds for Eroica to listen to sounds of a scuffle, and then the voice of a young man pitched gruffly. His German accent marked him as very likely one of Panzer's men. "You want your painting?"

"Oh!" Eroica's voice on the other end of the slightly bad connection was delighted. "So much better! Do you know, you don't have to bother trying to disguise your voice for my benefit, but the effect is utterly charming. I do find your accent adorable."

Z no longer wondered why Panzer had painted the major in so many glowing colours and variations of the word 'fag'. "Look, do you want to get you painting back or not?"

"You're new at this, aren't you?" Eroica asked gently. "We could be at this forever, you know, with silly questions we both already know the answer to. Follow my lead, Darling, and I'll cut us right to the quick." A nod from Bonham as he caught the agent's eye told him that the trace was progressing well, a fact which surely the young thief knew also. Not that Eroica had any hope of it turning up anything more interesting than a pay phone somewhere. "You just tell me where and when, and I'll show up with my men, and your Panzer will have you lot, and we'll try to outmanoeuvre each other while pretending we're both alone and not playing the same role in a game of cat and mouse."

/*Fuck*./

"Within the next two hours, and..." And then Z started the complicated directions A had given him. "Need it repeated...?" He'd been on the phone *far* too long and when he was done, would have to hang-up and run.

A beamed smile and a thumbs up from Bonham allowed the Major to wrap up the call. "No, thank you. Once is enough for my excellent memory." And to prove it he recited back the directions. "I'll let you go now, Darling. You don't have to run too quickly -- it will take us at least five minutes to get a car out there..." Three was more like it, but Eroica didn't want to brag too much.

Before hanging up he did have one last bit of advice. "But next time, Darling, try not to leave a witness behind. You'd better hope that your drunk has bad eyesight and a poor memory, and that Panzer never finds out..."

Z hung up first, though, shaking furiously as he bolted from the phone-booth, and gathered the thieves from his part of the plan.

God, Panzer *would* kill him if he ever found it. And it had *seemed* such a good idea at first!

Eroica was in motion before the receiver even touched its cradle. "I want Baker and Crowe to go round up that drunk," he informed Bonham as he headed for a wall map while at the same time pulling on his suit coat. "He won't be difficult to find -- the liquor store nearest that phone, I'd imagine. The rest of you I want down in..." Leaning, his finger traced remembered roads, finally stopping on a tiny village. "Latham. You've got an hour and a half to get there, so you'd best get your collective arse in gear."

"And you, Major?" Bonham asked in an anxious tone of voice. God, but how Eroica worried him some days!

Eroica was checking his weapons now, taking as much care with the various knives and a silk corded garrotte he habitually kept on his person as his little silver pistol. Panzer's monstrous Magnum was tucked unloaded into his waistband at the small of his back, a heavy, intimate reminder of the danger he was charging off to face. Not that he needed one. Already the thrill of the hunt was pulling his lips into a manic grin, and he'd felt the kick of adrenaline even before he'd hung up the phone.

"Don't worry, Bonham," Eroica assured, even as, excluding those words, everything about the Major was screaming that it was *precisely* the time to worry. "If I could fit you lot into the Lotus, I would." The sports car, paired with Eroica's lead foot, could make the drive in an hour. "I'm only going down early to look about -- I promise not to do anything until my faithful men are there to back me up."

"B-but, sir, if he's down there waiting for you... Panzer has a reputation for murder, Major!" Bonham warned. If James had've known, even the slightest bit, the room would have been filled with howls and screams of protest for the Major's safety. Only, now it was Bonham's sensible rationalisation.

"Of course he's waiting for me," Eroica reasoned, lingering to pat Bonham's shoulder encouragingly. Probably already in place, and likely pacing. Somehow Eroica couldn't imagine a man like Panzer resting in one place for very long. His brain supplied an image of the thief in question, the man's ferocious beauty and searing eyes indelible. Such a nasty personality, but SO nice to look at... "He'll be expecting me early, which is why I've got to get there earlier than early if I want to set up a trap of my own."

Maybe, when he caught the man he could take a few liberties -- like tying him up, gagging him and just *looking* at his beautiful, powerful body. Then he could have those sharp, brilliant eyes searing into his soul without the man's foul mouth to interfere with his personal fantasy.

"What trap are you setting, sir?"

"I'll tell you when you get there." It would have pricked his pride a little to admit that he didn't have one yet. Not that he was worried, with a whole hour's drive to concoct one... "You have one hour and twenty eight minutes, Mr. Bonham," he called over his shoulder on the way out the door.

And that sent the poor little man into a flurry of action.

Just the way Eroica liked to leave.

Panzer, on the other hand, was finishing with the last of equipment that he was setting up. When he'd told A he was going to catch the NATO man, he'd meant it very literally. A little payback for the humiliation of being handcuffed and locked in a small closet for a few minutes.

The gleaming steel suitcase had held ten large, heavy beartraps, and the stakes for them. And now Klaus stood in the clearing he'd half created himself, the position of each trap memorised. A feinted manoeuvre in any direction, and the other man was caught.

Leaves kicked over them hid the dull, malicious glint of metal, and Klaus decided that he was satisfied with his preparations. He had an hour until the proposed meeting time, but that damned faggot could be expected early... The thought of the Major rushing willingly to meet his trap was inordinately pleasing to Panzer. He would take back his Magnum and keep the painting too -- if nothing else, it would be a nice target to shoot at -- and leave the fucking Brit stranded, humiliated and in a great deal of pain.

By design, beartraps did unkind things to flesh, and if the blonde man had his ankle broken or lost a foot, well... That was luck.

It'd be his own damn fault if he struggled too much.

It was personal the moment Panzer had been caught, for the first time in long years. Only the poor NATO man hadn't seen it coming. A 'personal' grudge to Panzer meant imminent (sometimes 'accidental') death. Once the Earl had been caught, he'd remove the other traps and take off with his gun, with the painting already safely back in transit to Germany.

Anticipative grey-green eyes stole a glance to his watch. In another hour, he would be following. And none too soon! He couldn't wait to show his backside to this fucking country!

Back home for a while, and mainland Europe, where the steals were no less risky and all the more familiar to him. and the only idiots he'd have to deal with would be his own men and the occasional daring ICPO agent.

Watching that fag caught in a bear-trap for a few minutes, though, would be worth any delay.

Although... Was that -- yes! Straining ears caught a sound, identifying it as it grew quickly nearer as a motor can engine. No Benz ever made such an unrefined growl, like some beast trolling the narrow forest path. The fag was accommodating, beating out even Panzer's estimate of his premature arrival by a good ten minutes.

That didn't make Panzer any less ready, though -- he'd been ready for the better part of an hour already, and his pacing stopped immediately upon placing the Major as the owner of that growling engine. Frozen still, he pulled a simple pistol from a holster separate from the one that usually held his Magnum, safety off.

This was going to be satisfying.

This was going to be pleasurable. Eroica was sure of that much, as he pulled the Lotus to a tidy stop at the point in the road where fresh tire marks ended. There was the possibility, however unlikely, that he would retrieve Benedict's portrait. He would tangle with the intriguing Panzer again, and though he still hadn't a cohesive plan for capturing the man, he remained confident.

In the village it had been easy to flash his charm and winsome smile, and earn himself the whereabouts of a bunch of 'funny foreign blokes' he was supposed to meet up with. He'd watched Panzer's badly conspicuous gang from a distance, waving when spotted, and wondering which among them was the nice-sounding youth he'd spoken to on the phone. The fact that they'd huddled up for a nervous discussion rather than attempt contact told him that either fear of going against orders had killed any incentive among them, and that their orders hadn't included delaying him in any way.

Good. His men would be arriving soon and could deal with them, leaving Eroica and Panzer to face each other alone, wits against wits, just as it should be. Who knew? If this hunt ended too quickly and the Major was feeling magnanimous, he might even allow Panzer to escape, to be chased another day. That was unlikely though. Eroica expected a real challenge from a man of Panzer's reputation, and the game was just begun.

Would Panzer await him, even after having heard the car roll up? Would he be ambushed...? Or would, on some rare chance, the exchange be honourably executed on the thief's behalf?

An ambush was by far the most likely, which was why Dorian remained in the car for a long time after having parked it. After five minutes of no contact he laid on the horn a little, waited, and then cracked his window and tried shouting instead. "Panzer! I say, are you about? Where's my painting?"

Nothing. Did the man expect him to get out of his car?

Apparently, because he heard a sharp bellow from a few hundred feet back. "Get out of your car, you stupid fag -- I have your painting!"

"Oh, Darling..." The voice from the car sounded disappointed. "If you're going to lie, at least do it convincingly." While he wasn't certain that Panzer didn't have the painting, it was the most likely scenario, given what he knew of the man's reputation and personality. As a further barb he added, "And how do you know I've brought what you want?"

"Double-crossing Panzer isn't a wise decision," He heard that voice, warning, somewhat closer. Oh, dammit, where *was* the man hiding in the underbrush and trees all around Dorian's car?

The NATO Major pretended to consider, and then unexpectedly slid from his car. The motion was a practised one, smooth with grace despite the car's low race-style suspension and the blonde's length of leg. After the door was gently shut he stood for a moment, one hand absently fluffing out his riotous curls. "I don't think it counts as a double cross if we're both guilty," he called cheerily to the woods at large, still not having pinpointed Panzer's location. "But I've put forward my show of faith."

"Your show of faith is getting out of your car?" came the rough growl from his left... no, his right and above him, no... "Walk forward."

At the request Eroica's eyes fell to the ground at his feet, sodden from a recent rainfall. "Must I? I just had these boots cleaned! There's mud everywhere."

"Do you say the same things on a mission? Walk forward!!" A rough German bark, and he heard movement, quick and hard to place, from *above* and to one side.

Partially complying, Dorian took a step, then paused again, his eyes surreptitiously scanning the underbrush. "What do I have to do to get you to yell at me like that again? Because your voice, Darling... Oh, it sends absolute shivers down my spine!"

Not a glint of anything in the underbrush -- more confirmation that Panzer was probably up in the trees, or wearing heavy camouflage.

"You really are a military disgrace -- keep walking."

"When do I get to see cousin Benny?" Dorian asked again. At this point, considering that an ambush hadn't already been sprung on him, he felt safer in following the thief's orders, lulling him into thinking the NATO man was easily manoeuvred. He took one step, and more, the trees above and to the right the target now of his scanning eyes.

"Soon enough," was the gruff response -- and another movement, which brought Panzer into view, jumping down perhaps ten feet in front of him, in a clearing past the underbrush. "He's folded up in my suitcase here -- the gilt on the frame was worth more than the fucking painting." The steel suitcase looked like it very well could have held a carefully rolled painting, without damage to the paint.

And Panzer was no less alluring than he'd been the last time Dorian had seen him -- clean-cut, crisp brown slacks, an equally crisp olive shirt, and that dark, dark long hair.

Disregarding the suitcase entirely, Eroica's eyes were all over the man, lingering in an assessment that was almost fond. "Oh yes... I *do* prefer you looking smug to looking sullen. And your idea of meeting alone in the woods is such a wonderful one! Almost feels like a guilty tryst instead of an exchange." After that last remark, accompanied by a slow, sensual wetting of his lips, Eroica decided to back off a little. He wanted the German off-balance, not disgusted enough to bolt!

He DID look nearly disgusted enough to bolt, easily lifting the suitcase. "Just get the fuck over here, and give me my god-damned gun back." /This is too easy, and he has it coming now,/ the German man thought, still looking at Dorian with an almost flat glare.

"Very well. I'll want to have a look at Benny before I fetch your gun, of course -- just to make sure you haven't done anything to him like draw one of those silly handle-bar moustaches-"

Whatever he'd been about to say was bitten off in a scream, as a piece of the forest floor sprang up and snapped its steel jaws around his ankle.

Panzer calmly set down the suitcase -- dropped it really, and then picked up a stick -- setting off the rest of the traps carefully and meticulously, not caring that Eroica was all but screaming his head off as all the traps were disabled so that Panzer could properly approach him.

"For a fucking NATO officer, you aren't bright."

While Panzer had attended the other traps, Eroica had crumpled to the muddy ground, clutching at his leg in agony. Thank God for the vanity of his boots! The stiff leather footwear had prevented the trap's teeth from puncturing too deeply into his flesh, and, he was fairly certain, from breaking any bones. But there was blood everywhere; he could feel it soaking in between his toes with the little feeling remaining in the limb.

With the German approaching him now, Eroica cast a sparking glare his way, sapphire eyes made even more brilliant for the pain they held. "Y-you... 're m-marvellous..." he gritted out slowly, hampered by clenched teeth and ashen, clumsy lips. "K-knew you... wouldn't disappoint..."

"Disappoint? You mean, let myself be caught by you? No chance, limey," Panzer drawled, moving behind him to retrieve his gun from where it was nestled against the small of Dorian's back -- the only place where he guessed it could have been hidden. /I'll clean it once we're on the plane back home,/ he thought to himself as he slid it into his painfully empty shoulder holster. "Good thing you didn't double cross me, Major Gloria -- I'm in such a mood that I might tell your men that you're out here when I go to retrieve my crew."

"Wouldn't do that... Too... much hon'r." The only thing that was keeping Eroica's words coherent was his fierce focus on the man he was addressing. "You k-know... 'll nev'r give up now. You'd better s-start running..."

"Running? Panzer never runs from a foe," He all but purred, feeling comfortably smug as he started to unstake the other traps that were now harmless. No sense in wasting good equipment. "Let this be a lesson to you, 'Eroica'."

Low laughter escaped the Major, blending almost perfectly with the rasp of dry leaves as he shifted his position a little. "Run," he emphasised again. "Handsome when y're gloating... Want you ev'n more... now."

"You're a sick fuck," he reiterated -- him, the man who'd laid out six bear-traps for a man who'd taken a gun from him!! Each trap, heavy and cumbersome, was put back in the completely empty steel suitcase. "Don't gnaw your ankle off before your men find you," was the almost cheerful 'good-bye' as Panzer moved to walk past him.

With plans to drive off in Eroica's car, even as terribly foppish as it was.

It wasn't surprising in the least, considering how Panzer's plan had come together so neatly, that something should blunder in like the proverbial bull in a china shop and smash the German's soaring mood.

That something came in the form of a band of armed men, materialising from the brush like ghosts from a shroud of fog. He was completely surrounded in seconds, the gleam of rifle muzzles trained on him discouraging movement.

"You fucking *ass*," he snarled at the hobbled Eroica. "What a move -- your men?"

Likely... not, as Eroica was staring round at the group of interlopers with something very like horror, too stunned to answer. What came out of his lips was even more telling, a terse, "Oh, *fuck*."

The identity of the men was revealed when the leader stepped forward, neatly removing the freshly returned Magnum from Klaus' holster and clasping him heartily on the shoulder at the same time. "Fortunate day!" he roared, his English heavily flavoured with a Soviet accent. "Comrade, I congratulate you on your capture of Eroica."

'Oh, fuck,' was right.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled, even as the removal of safeties -- five, no, six of them -- made themselves present in his ears. He put his hands up a little to show them as empty.

That taken as an invitation, he earned himself a disgustingly thorough pat-down. It told him that he was dealing with professionals. Even worse was that his question was ignored, the men around him laughing and murmuring among themselves in Soviet, while the leader approached Eroica and launched into a greeting in the same.

"[Major Gloria! I cannot tell you how pleased I am to witness this embarrassment! Tell me -- how does it feel to be caught in a trap like an animal? It is a tale you can look forward to repeating often, after I've taken you back to Moscow.]"

The tone that came from Eroica startled Panzer, even if he didn't understand the words themselves. Cool and aloof, and surprisingly steady, it held none of the intimacy he'd lavished on the German. Instead it dripped scorn. "[Piss off, Mischa. Smugness doesn't suit you, especially when you're taking credit for the effort of others.]"

Panzer at least recognised the tongue as Soviet, though -- counter spies, perhaps? But they were Soviets, which was bad enough, and they'd only left him with the tiny knife he kept tucked against the inside of his ankle, within the knee-high boots he wore. A weapon he couldn't get access to without a deal of trouble.

"[You friend here, is he an enemy of yours? He's done the KGB a great service in catching you!]"

"[Of course he's an enemy!]" the blonde snapped, his patience already eroded by pain. The next bit he snarled out in English, for the benefit of watching the thief squirm. "He is Panzer, an art thief with a dangerous reputation. Perhaps the KGB should court him for his services, as he's managed to do what you've never been able to accomplish."

KGB?!!!

/Oh, fuck./ Panzer stiffened steelily; he'd robbed the Soviet consulate in east Berlin once, and put himself eternally in their 'want' files.

"Der Panzer?" Mischa laughed, loudly as he sized up the thief. "[A double catch then -- we have the symphony and the tank in our hands now!] Panzer, free your captive and help him stand."

"If I don't?" he asked, managing easily to keep his deadly calm.

Eroica somehow managed to look pathetically hopeful at the prospect of not being captured alone. Or perhaps it was for the prospect of Panzer's having been ordered to help him, which would necessitate at least a little close physical contact... "Oh, don't be such a ninny," Eroica drawled, attempting to mask the fact that he was growing slowly dizzy, probably from loss of blood. "If you don't, Comrade Mischa will simply knock you around a bit before forcing you to at gunpoint."

"Mischa, huh?" Klaus asked, looking at the thick-looking, tall Soviet -- perhaps, half an inch sorter than Dorian, who was only perhaps an inch shorter than himself... He moved smoothly, barely kneeling at all as he pulled the trap open with an easy movement that proved impressive strength that was exercised carelessly. It freed the vise-grip around Dorian's leg.

It also caused the Englishman to hiss sharply, consciousness nearly evading his grasp as he clamped a hand tightly to Panzer's forearm. Those teeth releasing his leg caused a fresh wave of pain, and blood wept freely now to mix with the mud on the forest floor.

It was hard to snap at a wounded man to let go of him, although that clamped grasp was used against Dorian when Panzer hauled him upright, an arm shoving under his shoulders. "Ja?"

"Da," Mischa grinned back at the pair, broad white teeth flashing. "Not far to go, and we'll move slowly for the Major's benefit. It will be like a pleasant excursion!"

The fucking Soviet was too cheery for Klaus' tastes -- first chance he got, he was going to punch that smug expression right off of the man's face. "[I can't see how that would be,]" he growled in German was he was goaded forwards.

"[I'm crushed... that you're not enjoying having me in your arms,]" he was answered in soft German, and found Eroica's eyes on him from frighteningly short distance away. What saved his stomach from roiling unpleasantly was that they were glassy, and almost apologetic. The blonde was leaning on him a great deal, more and more weight with each excruciating step.

"[Just give up and pass out,]" Klaus snapped back. At least then he could drag the blonde's weight forwards without being *hit* on.

"[Don't... do anything stupid when I do. Want you in... one piece, so I c'n look forward to... capturing...]" The blonde man wend slowly limp, his knees crumpling.

Which left Panzer to just scoop him up, distasteful as it was; but somehow, the man truly was easier to carry when he was unconscious, and the German easily held the NATO officer's weight in stiff arms. "[Where.... do we... go?]" Klaus asked in halting, German-thick Soviet.

"Ugh -- you hurt my ears," Mischa complained, pausing briefly to assess his position and minutely adjust his course. "Butcher English if you must speak to me at all." He then struck off at a quick half-march, expecting the burdened Panzer to follow. "We are going to camp. A truly remarkable coincidence it was to meet anyone here, let alone two fishes we have been eager to catch. The honking we thought was one of our delivery trucks lost in the woods."

Well, that made the fag military man doubly dead, once they got free! He just had to honk his horn, didn't he? "Camping in the middle of England...? Nervy," Klaus commented darkly, following with his own march-step behind Mischa.

The jarring of his footsteps must have woken Eroica, as at least one point in their journey hazed blue eyes slitted open to regard Panzer curiously. The Major didn't attempt to speak, seemingly too thick-headed to do more than clutch at the front of the German's neat olive shirt. At least, that's what Klaus thought, until he felt a wedge of something thin and hard pressed discreetly to his abdomen, as Eroica slipped him a small knife.

It took a hand that had to shift over Eroica's side in an almost sensual manner that made Mischa sneer, to pocket that blade and secret it away within the empty sheath that was still against the inside of his wrist. The KGB idiots had taken his weapons, but not his holsters and sheaths, and they'd regret it shortly.

"He's getting heavy," Klaus complained, hoping it would gain them a rest in which they could get a chance to escape. "Can we stop so I can tourniquet his leg?"

Or rather, he could get a chance to escape. Eroica was in no shape to go anywhere under his own power. Panzer didn't let that bother him, though. If the KGB took the fag Brit back to Moscow with them, it would only serve him right for attracting their attention in the first place! What *did* gall -- terribly -- was the knowledge that he'd lost his beloved Magnum again, this time to a smug Soviet bastard!

At Panzer's request Mischa considered, deciding quickly that his six riflemen were more than a fair match for a wounded NATO Major and a German thief. "Very well," he sighed, giving a few curt motions which sent his men scurrying to secure a perimeter around the pair. "You know something about first aid, Mr. Tank?"

"More than enough." He laid Eroica out, and removed the torn boot, and the sock beneath it, ripped and soaked through in blood. /The trap did the trick./ Perhaps he'd rescue Eroica just to piss off the Soviet, he told himself as he spat on the wound for lack of a better way to clean it; then used the upper part of the sock to blot at badly clumped blood that would have to be removed anyway -- so why not when it was still mostly fresh?

"You wouldn't have cloth I can use as a tourniquet, do you?"

"You are wearing a shirt," Mischa pointed out helpfully. He retrieved from some inner pocket a cigar, snipping off the end and thrusting it between his lips to chew on as he watched the proceedings with obvious amusement.

A shirt that the man had already partly bled on. That got Mischa a glare, but Klaus carefully ripped up the length of his left sleeve -- not the right that hid the slender blade Eroica had snuck him -- and ripped it off at the shoulder. It made a neat bandage around the wound, perhaps a little tight but not so tight as to cut off circulation. Then Klaus sat back on his heels and pulled a slender black cigarette case out of his back pocket, pulling out a familiar German-brand cigarette.

"Have a light?" /Just get close to me. With their leader's throat about to be slit they'll have to back off./

Maddeningly, Mischa only laughed at him again. "Don't you know it's not wise to smoke in the woods? Why do you think I've not lit up yet? Can't be careless and start any fires that might give our position away."

"Do you really think a small cigarette will start a fire?" Klaus asked in an incredulous growl.

"I think a man smoking a small cigarette could easily start a fire," Mischa told him, at the same time he got a little warning pinch from the still muzzy Eroica. Hadn't he listened to Dorian's warning not to try anything stupid? Didn't he know Mischa would shoot him without compunction? That would be an awful waste of a truly fascinating adversary!

"Hmn." Panzer kept the cigarette in his mouth, obviously unhappy with that he'd been refused; he scooped Eroica back up into his arms after putting the man's boot back on. "Well, let's keep going, then."

Mischa smiled knowingly but didn't remark on Panzer's unflagging strength, which allowed him to carry the semi-conscious -- feigned or no he couldn't tell -- Eroica the rest of the way to a bustling though clearly temporary camp.

Soviets, everywhere -- it made his skin crawl, to be surrounded by the imbeciles that had split his homeland and subverted half of it to their own sick views.

But he kept silent, looking, ever vigilant for an out.

None were immediately forthcoming. Barked orders made two men come forward and wrestle Eroica from his grasp, leaving Klaus' shirt wrinkled badly from where the Brit had fisted a double handful. He was then marched by his contingent of guards to the empty trailer of a medium sized truck and pressed inside, the door closed and locked behind him.

Klaus was, to put it shortly, pissed. Locked in a dark trailer, probably to suffocate to death before the idiot KGB decided to take them to Moscow. Lovely -- just fucking lovely.

At least he didn't have to suffer for long alone. No -- it looked like he would be spending the indeterminate period of time until he could escape in the maddening company of Eroica. The door was lifted, letting in a flood of bright light that glinted warningly off several gun barrels trained on the truck's cargo, and the blonde agent was tossed carelessly inside.

In the brief light Klaus saw that his boot was missing, and that his foot had been freshly (and professionally) bandaged. His left cheek was stained a cheery red, from the slapping that had no doubt wrenched him firmly back to consciousness, and his clothes were slightly askew, probably from a thorough search. If there was anything else of interest to note it was lost to darkness, as, with a particularly rough comment from one of the KGB men about intimacies that took place in the privacy of dark places, the door was closed and locked once more.

A comment which put his mind into a place he didn't want it to go -- NOT when locked in a trailer with an unrepentant pervert!!

"You coherent?" he asked carefully, starting to take off his own boot to remove the small blade he had hidden still.

"No thanks to you." The sneer rose out of the darkness, along with a sharp hiss as Eroica pulled himself into a sitting position against the trailer's wall.

"Don't whine; I didn't count on the KGB finding us," Klaus growled. as he thumped his boot down on the floor of the trailer, and then removed the short knife from the inside of it. "Want your knife back?"

"Not if you're planning to stick it in me," Eroica continued grousing, despite Panzer's growl. "I mean -- really! HOW could you have picked the one spot in all of England swarming with them?! We've known Mischa was in the country for six days, and we've been *looking* for the ass and haven't turned up so much as a hair! Either your luck is blindingly bad, or fate has it in for you."

"Since I've met you, I'd guess fate has it in for me," he growled low in his throat. "I don't know how I had such shitty luck -- but I'm wanted by the Soviets, too, so I'm fucked."

"Don't think like that, Darling." Dorian's natural inclination to lead was taking over; without realising he was doing it he was comforting Panzer as if the German were one of his own men entangled with him in a mission gone horribly awry. From snarled accusations to soothed reassurances in under a minute. The man was as changeable as the weather!

"Don't think like that?" Klaus looked up at him incredulously as he pulled his boot back on and closed the cinch at the top. "We have two knives now."

"Don't think that you're fucked. It's not the bad thing you make it out to be." Dorian's eyes were slowly adjusting to the gloom, and he could make out the German's form a few feet away. "Thanks for keeping mine for me. With the knives... I'll find a way for us to escape, somehow." He said that when what he really meant was find a way for Panzer to escape. With his foot in the shape it was in, he could barely hobble, much less run.

Klaus' eyes had obviously adjusted faster -- though shocked for a few moments by gleaming bright light when Dorian had been tossed in with him. He moved towards the thief, and pressed the man's blade back into his hand. "I'm not going to leave you here for the fucking Soviets, even if I don't like you."

The knife was warmed -- Panzer must have been holding it for a long time -- and when it was pressed to his palm the Brit's fingers closed reflexively around it, brushing Panzer's. "Nice sentiment," Dorian drawled, "but considering your track record, I'll be sure not to get my hopes up."

"What track record?"

"Don't you wonder why I brought your Magnum, when I knew you wouldn't have the painting?"

"Not really," Klaus murmured, sitting down just across from Dorian -- which left him fairly close. "Why?"

"I'm an honourable man," the Major informed him stiffly, unable to prevent a thread of self superiority from slipping into his still cynical tone. "Your case file has proven you again and again to not be, but even so long as there was the *possibility* that you would uphold your end of the bargain..." He trailed off softly, the space between words used to scrub a hand at his face. "Forget it. You probably can't distinguish honour from stupidity."

"I can," he drawled, /though the two go hand in hand./ "Honour among thieves doesn't hold much water. I have morals, and they suffice."

"Is that so?" Of course Eroica would sound angry -- Panzer had dealt him a double blow that afternoon, hurting his pride every bit as severely as the damage that trap had done his ankle. "Funny sort of morals, that allow you to take what pleases you and hurt and kill indiscriminately."

"I suppose it is," Panzer agreed, stretching his legs out a bit. "But I also have a temper."

"And how is that an excuse?"

"It's no excuse -- 's a counter to my sense of morals. I spend a lot of time in confessional when I go back home." Not that he cared often what the priest thought, but God help him, he had an image to maintain as the Eberbach Heir, criminal or not!

Now there was a strange idea! A murderer and a thief, who religiously attended his Catholic duty of confession! Dorian startled himself by laughing, a quick, quiet bark of the stuff that told him just how far from being clear headed he was. "My foot -- will you confess that the next time you go home? I hope the penance is atrocious and takes an entire week to say it, because I know you'll be thinking about me the whole time, and that pleases me."

"I'll confess it," he said reasonably enough, before shifting a little and letting out a tense noise. "I hate staying still for so long." /With nothing to do but talk to a stupid 'honourable' fag./

"Pace, if it would make you feel better," Eroica prodded tiredly. For himself, pacing wasn't an option, regardless that he had an excess of nervous energy.

"You haven't tried to... oh, that's right. Well, I did try. Hit my head on the ceiling -- it was almost a good idea, though," came the vague compliment. "Nothing to do but wait until they open this trailer."

"Then be a good fellow and be quiet about it," came the request, an odd mixture of complaint and plea. Eroica shifted again, trying to curl himself into a comfortable shape on the ground that didn't involve aggravating his ankle. "Both times now I've been around you I've been tense as hell, and that's compounded by a healthy dose of pain this time, thanks to your 'temper'. Your talking at me isn't helping by a long shot."

"We wouldn't be here if you hadn't stolen my gun from me." A low-toned growl, and Klaus moved closer just, it seemed, to prod him in the ribs! "Or honked your horn like that... and don't whine so -- you ankle will heal up quickly enough."

"You left it behind," Eroica countered sharply, wishing he had something other than the little knife to throw at the man. A good boot to the head might have done the trick. Had he any idea what effect his voice was working on Dorian? Low and rough, the growl raked down his spine like a match being struck, flaring an unhealthy sort of lust to life.

No, he couldn't possibly have known, or he would have fallen into a sullen silence long before now.

A hard shake of his head cleared a little space within the muzziness for Dorian to think. Had the Soviets given him something when they'd bandaged his leg? Water; he didn't recall anything else... " 's your fault for breaking into my house in the first place. None of this would have happened if you hadn't been a greedy sot." There -- no way for the thief to argue *that*!

"No, none of this would have happened if my *fucking* stupid men had've told me about your security system," he decided, that rough growl falling into an almost thoughtful drawl. "Everyone has a job -- something they're good at. Stealing falls second to my real duties, but it's a natural skill."

"I'm good at what I do," the Major offered forcefully. "The best, in fact. I do my job faster, cleaner, and with less loss of life than anyone else." And so what if he got an added kick of enjoyment from his job? He was still helping people, unlike that damned predator of a thief!

/Can't be so good to have walked right into a line of bear-traps,/ Klaus thought with a small snort of noise leaving him. "Spy-work is probably dirtier than what I do."

"Depends on your definition of dirty," the Major's voice was suddenly soft, surprisingly rich. "I'm better at seduction than at sticking knives in people, if that's what you mean."

"That's definitely dirtier than what I do," came the flat, almost grimaced reply.

"Of course you wouldn't understand." Airily said, but there was a bite of unhappiness to the words. "You're a shallow person."

That stung *badly*, but of course, it had been *meant* to sting! "You don't know me," he shrugged, though that gesture was lost to the NATO man's eyes. "And you never will."

What was there to know? Rough voice, flat, hard eyes, a mouth that Dorian only suspected could curve into a sensuous smile, because he'd never seen it make anything but a grim line... "It doesn't matter, Darling," Eroica answered with a sigh, trying to be flippant to mask an odd sort of disappointment. "Your body's the lovely part of you. Your personality is ugly. Besides, I'd just be happy bringing you to justice at this point..."

Even *NOW*, when locked in such a tense and dangerous situation, the man hit on him! "It wouldn't matter if you did -- I've escaped Interpol before." He rose now, carefully, to feel along the lines of he trailer's door.

It wouldn't do the thief a lick of good, but Dorian let him play at probing in the dark for a few minutes before offering, "It's padlocked on the outside. I saw, when they tossed me in. Would take a pair of heavy cutters to get through, so unless you've got some in your pocket, you might want to try something else.

"Padlocked, hmn?" Klaus stepped back, and after a moment, settled down on the ground again. "If they don't come back in an hour to two, I'll see what I can do with knocking the door out."

Eroica didn't really see the point, as he doubted they'd be held in the truck for much longer. If he was indeed being taken back to Moscow as Mischa had promised, they would have to at some point pass through more populated areas where there would be a better chance of escape. Eroica could be patient, provided he didn't go insane and throttle the high-strung Panzer first.

And god help them both, the man was high-strung; in capture situations, speed was necessary to him, and in this one... he *knew*, consciously, that he should be patient, but it wasn't happening very well. He considered it an accomplishment that was *still*, sitting that way on purpose and with some effort.

"Think or men have stopped chasing each other around yet and realised we're missing?"

"Depends. What were the orders you gave yours?" Dorian now felt a little guilty for running off and letting his rashness land him in trouble, just as Bonham had worried, after promising not to even!

"To delay your men for an hour."

It had been almost double that amount of time, the blonde guessed. "Probably have, then. Mine were instructed to keep an eye on yours, though Bonham's got a good head on his shoulders and an uncanny sense about missions. He was jittery about the hand-off even before I'd left; he'll know something's amiss."

"Good. Z Probably won't have the common sense to realise that. I'd rather be captured by the West than the East."

"Is he the sweet boy I talked to on the phone?" Eroica asked, his mood seeming to lift a little.

/Sweet boy.../ Eroica could almost feel his adversary shudder, before he was answered, "I suppose he was."

"Don't be too hard on him," Eroica advised gently; that lips were smiling was obvious in his tone. "He was so eager and earnest, even if he hasn't got much sense. I should think that would come with seasoning, though."

"For his sake, he should learn soon," Klaus groused, folding his arms over his chest as he put away his blade, for the moment.

Eroica sniffed. "If you don't want him, I'd imagine I could turn him into a fine agent."

"You'd pervert the boy -- he's of fine German stock and no fag limey needs to pollute his brain!" Klaus snapped sharply.

"Oh. I see -- want him for yourself."

/Calm... stay calm.../ "Not for the reasons you would," he finally hissed.

"Of course not." Smug didn't begin to cover the Brit's tone, heavy with a mock knowing. "You know, there *is* a branch of NATO in Bonn. I'm wondering if it wouldn't be worth getting myself transferred there, seeing as my world is suddenly awash in pretty Germans."

The thief seemed to react to that, though the reasons were unintelligible. "You in Germany would be a travesty."

"[Has anyone ever told you that your sense of patriotism is... um..." Much as he'd have liked, Dorian's eroded temper wouldn't let him be kind. "Excessive...?"

"My father was a tank commander in the NDA. I've been raised to know there is no such thing as excessive patriotism," Panzer snorted at him. As long as they talked in vagueties, who cared?

The counter was ignored, Eroica instead pouncing on the spare bit of background information. It wasn't much -- not by a long-shot! But if he collected enough, he might be able to assemble the clues into a working picture of the man. He might even be able to ferret out an identity! "[Oh...? That would explain the nickname,]" the Major mused softly, as if to himself. The German was for Panzer's benefit, hopefully relaxing the man a hair. "[You must be as fond of tanks as your father.]"

"[Almost. They're wonderful machines.]" Rather, the nickname had come from so many people commenting that his father had raised a tank, and not a boy. Just to spite them all, he'd taken it on as his cover-name.

"[I don't see what's so wonderful about them. Bloody noisy things, and dreadfully slow."]

"[I wouldn't expect you to understand the beauty of steel and perfect precision.]" Roughly growled words directed at the perverted Major. "[It isn't shallow enough for you.]"

"[Shallow...]" Eroica rolled the thought on his tongue for a moment, the taste unfamiliar but not in any way unappetising. "[I... have highly refined aesthetics, and can find beauty in both of those things. It just surprises me that you can.]" /Surprises me that you are a very surprising man./

"[What do you think I am? Some low-born sod that just likes to steal shiny objects?]" Panzer scoffed.

"[I don't know what you are, Darling,]" Dorian spoke gently. "[Remember? 'You don't know me, and you never will,']" he quoted back. "[So don't be angry at me for being wrong.]"

"[Lucky for both of us, then,]" Klaus almost sneered. "[I hope we never meet again after this.]"

"[Oh no! We must meet again!]" Dorian shifted a little, coming off his rest against the trailer wall to lean in Klaus' direction. "[Can't you feel it? Whatever comes of this... We will meet again, Panzer.]" It felt funny to call the man that, in German, but as he hadn't another name it would simply have to do.

"I'll fucking kill you if you lay a hand on me, you sick fag," came the man's immediate reaction, in sharp, distinct English.

Despite the warning Eroica approached closer still, near enough that his features could be made out in the gloom, the strange confidence and enthusiasm showing in his eyes. "Kill me, and your own life is as good as worthless," Panzer was reminded reasonably. Then, perhaps to spite the man, or simply to prove himself fearless, Dorian did stretch out a hand towards the thief.

And the thief narrowed his eyes viciously for a moment, but stayed as still and un-moving as an animal of prey caught by a predator dead on. "Your... leg has gotten better," came the almost dry-tongued remark, fishing to sound sharp. "Perhaps I could break it for you."

"Not better -- just numb." Dorian's hand hovered, but for the time contact was restrained to an intense clash of gazes, arcing electrically between the two men.

The first of many, Klaus feared, and probably with good grounds. Eroica was known for stalking people down, just as Panzer was known for killing them. Essentially a Mountie against the reverse of one. "Don't touch me."

"Why should I want to touch a man who's like the steel of his namesake...? So cold and hard, and brutal..." The question was for himself, Eroica possibly not realising that he was speaking aloud as his hand descended on Panzer's.

No movement, not even away from him. And no answer, as, for a moment, Panzer was shoved into a stun of silence.

"Then you fucking shouldn't!" And the hand was knocked away.

The Major's chill fingers had been like ice on Panzer's warmed ones, a lingering, indelible contrast.

It was enough, Eroica clearly discerning *something* from that barest of fluttered contacts. He retreated to his side of the makeshift cell, though not so far away as he had been before, and not nearly far enough for Panzer' s comfort! "I..."

"You're cold," the thief observed, cutting him off.

"Blood loss," Eroica dismissed, unable to rest his eyes anywhere but on Panzer, at least until he'd been able to organise the scattered thoughts produced by that bare touch. They were fragmented, and resisted order.

"You need sugar and food," came the wise words, though it did no-one any good at all. /And what the fuck do I care if this stupid, annoying NATO man is cold?/

"I... am aware that I'm not in the best of shape." It hadn't been anything like the intent behind his first two attempts, but it was good to get *something* to pass his lips. "You should be delighted, Mr. Tank, to see me so."

"Not if you're going to end up in Soviet hands," came the grudging grunt of noise.

"We're in their hands now," Klaus was uselessly reminded. "Though it's not where I intend to stay. I'll think of a way-" The rest was left unfinished, as muffled voices could be heard approaching the truck.

Panzer stayed silent, made sure his blade was well hidden and that he didn't look like he'd searched himself for weapons that might have been missed, which he had done. /We might be able to escape now.../

Eroica could be seen pulling his focus together as best he could, gathering himself for nearly anything, though he knew he was far from prepared. If Panzer did anything rash... Aside from the possibility of getting himself shot outright, he would severely damage any chance of later escape. But as the door was unlatched and raised, letting in thin, waning sunlight, there wasn't time for a hissed warning before orders were being barked at them.

Panzer did lunge forwards, and took out the jaw of the first man to get near them, and then lashed out at the next one. Rash, perhaps, didn't quite explain it, though Dorian was glad he was still sitting in the trailer proper when Panzer was overpowered.

Mischa had approached just in time to see the flurry of motion that was Panzer fall beneath his agent's restraining arms and active fists. "[Your friend is an idiot,]" he observed as he handed Eroica down from the truck, an odd politeness that hinted at professional respect for the NATO man. "[And I see that you are both still clothed. You must be losing your touch, Eroica.]"

Dorian stiffened, snatching his hand from Mischa's as soon as he was steady on his good foot, his other leg resting bent-kneed to avoid putting weight on it. "[Better that than my standards,]" the blonde man uttered snidely. It took work to prevent his eyes from falling on Panzer as he was hauled upright, to assess the damage wrought by Soviet fists. "[You're right though. The thief is an idiot.]"

"[Fuck... you both,]" he growled at them in the same Soviet they were speaking. He looked roughed up, his bottom lip was split badly, and he was reeling a little from the throbbing of his skull. "[Jus' wait...]" He was not a man to laugh at, not at all.

And two of the agents who had fallen on him with their fists didn't even notice their missing guns.

Mischa laughed heartily when Eroica, keeping his expression dead even, countered, "[Panzer Darling... You keep offering, when I know you don't really mean it. Perhaps you ought to employ some other curse next time?]"

"[Go to hell, you perverted whore-son.]" Perhaps his Soviet wasn't so good -- but his curse words were fluent no matter the tongue!

"[I didn't know you were acquainted with Mum. 's funny she never mentioned you, because she never passes on the chance to flaunt her latest-]"

Mischa cut him off, "[You have not lost your perverted tastes, I see,]" The KGB man inflicted a hearty slap to Eroica's shoulder before heading off, a motion of his chin drawing his agents and prisoners alike in tow. "[How did you enjoy that woman I sent? She was quite a looker, eh?]"

"[She was yours?]" Dorian recalled with distaste the miserable stake-out job of a few nights past. "[She was very... ripe.]" His lips twisted into a scowl.

"Don't bother sending women after this fag," Klaus snorted in English as he jerked free of the men supporting him to move on his own. "It's a waste of time."

Eroica didn't have that luxury, leaning heavily on one of the KGB agents -- who must have understood Klaus' words, to judge by the half loathsome, half fearful expression he wore. The NATO man was quick to agree, "Yes -- mine. Don't be stupid, Panzer. Mischa sent her for no more purpose than to waste my time, and get a laugh at the idea of me chasing after some damned hussy."

"Good for you," Klaus sneered hazily, as they trudged on. Sometimes, like this one, playing at whining was a gift to use; it would no doubt put the Soviet's view of him lower, which meant they'd see him as less of a threat. Already, he'd been pegged by them as amateur for attacking them right off.

He'd show them when the time was right.

"Where are we going?"

"You want to eat, don't you?" Mischa called back over his shoulder. "The KGB treats its important 'guests' with care. And though I admit he back of a truck isn't the most appropriate of cells, it will have to suffice until we can secure something more... elegant." He got a good laugh at that, and judging by the way Eroica's shoulders stiffened, his barb had struck not far from its target.

Elegant enough for the fag of an officer would probably be a simple steel cell that they'd spray-painted gold for the laughs of it, Klaus noted to himself. "Are we getting gruel, or poison?"

Another hearty laugh, this time for Panzer's very amateur -- intended or not -- assessment of his situation. "I agree with the Major," Mischa grinned, striking across the camp proper in the direction of a large tent. "For so infamous a thief, you are quite stupid. I am surprised you were not caught a long time ago."

"What he's trying to say, Darling, is that with all the trouble you've caused -- damaging my foot, and that absolutely wretched escape attempt -- if you didn't have more worth alive than dead you'd already be in an unmarked grave," Eroica explained with a forced show of blitheness.

"I always get myself out of trouble," Klaus said in a low, nonplussed tone. /Stupid for one person is sly for another. You'll see that when I shoot you in the head./

Mischa's sage advice was, "A wise man would not get himself into it in the first place."

At the tent, a guard stepped forward to pull back the door, and the captives were directed to one end of a long, folding table. From the state of the other end of the table -- cluttered with receipts and shipping manifests and all manner of paperwork, probably half of it false -- the tent served as command centre and mess hall both of a very temporary operation.

So he and Dorian were seated directly across from each other, and Klaus was more than aware of the guns still pointed at him as he settled into the chair. And he was equally aware of the other man's leg brushing his.

In Dorian's defense, the table *was* incredibly cramped, with simply not enough room for two long-legged men to be seated across from each other with any measure of comfort. Better the one leg brush than to knock knees, and at least the way he'd arranged himself kept his injury out of the mix.

Of course, he didn't look at all apologetic either.

He probably wasn't, Klaus assumed, as he drew himself up straighter in the chair, posture sharp as if he were at attention and awaiting an order....

Yet, oddly, he was tapping the toe of his boot against the side of Dorian's leg as if to signal something.

Already having experienced firsthand Panzer's frightening lack of patience, Eroica was having none of it. Not looking at the German, his brows turned down slightly, and he scooted his leg briefly away. When moments later two trays of something that looked vaguely like beef stroganoff and only marginally edible were set before the captives, the blonde Major picked up his fork immediately and primly began to eat.

Klaus' manners were a thing to behold. Not the rough-edged messiness that Dorian had expected of Panzer, nor those of a fastidious lower-class. His crisp movements, the neatness, the grace with which he managed food that was all but shit, *screamed* to Eroica that the man had manners trained into him that were better than his own lower-noble's. So, obviously from some sort of noble lineage, a father who was in WWII...

Major Gloria was going to be damned if he didn't put together the puzzle.

But not too quickly. If Panzer didn't stop giving him hints, the conclusion would be achieved before Eroica had put forth any effort. He did so hate a victory that felt meaningless...

Then again, these weren't hints -- it was bits of things dropped simply by virtue of Panzer's personality. Though, it could have been argued if he had one at all.

The meal was quickly finished, and Panzer sat still again, trying to take in everything he could see in the tent.

Four dark, vague walls. The mess of paperwork (who'd have thought the KGB would be so disorganised?). The few armed, stoic agents set to guard them, and Eroica -- languidly finishing off his meal with the same care he would have taken in some posh London restaurant.

The leg was back, doing nothing more than pressing into Panzer's, but that was more than enough to drive him right up a wall. If he jerked his leg back away, he'd end up stunning his knee on the underside of the table. No need to look like any more an idiot.

The Soviets also missed a carefully movement that gained him a sharp dinner knife in his possession.

Eroica hadn't. For a moment the leg pressed harder, the Brit's knee nudging Panzer high on the inside of his thigh. A warning it may have been, but quite likely the pervert got some sort of sick pleasure from touching him there!

It was taking everything in his power to not lash out and strike the man.

No, instead, though, he shifted his opposite leg, the toe of his boot brushing against the bandages around Eroica's ankle with a jarring little tap.

He was gratified when the blonde winced, drawing a soft hiss between his lips. Those large sapphire eyes flashed to the German's face, crackling with an anger that was even more quickly repressed.

Klaus, however, was playing the calm, uncaring innocent -- with a 'hmn?' sort of expression lingering around lips. "What? Stop staring at me. 's bad enough that I have to spend a wretched night with you, breathing the air you've polluted.."

Devoid of the usual sneer, those lips looked... tantalising. Humour, even a malicious sort at Dorian's expense, had softened them out of their hard line. Eroica amused himself in turn by wondering what they would feel like under his. Stubborn and resisting? Stiff with fear? Perhaps firm, but pliant. They would have to be warm...

It would almost be worth courting Panzer's fury to find out. When he'd captured the man, and had him in handcuffs, he knew full well the temptation would be irresistible. "What's wrong with sharing air with me, Darling?" Dorian purred, the opportunity for a little payback also irresistible. "It's romantic, to think that we shared so many breaths..."

"I've been in rooms with dogs before, too, and these Soviets, and I would not think it's romantic; you rate about even with those," Panzer drawled, amused a little by his own words.

"[Either he is very fond of dogs, or he has a low opinion of us, eh?]" Mischa seemed greatly amused by this fact, taking the opportunity to clap the Major on the shoulder again.

"[He doesn't know either of us.]" Eroica's eyes fell first on the hand resting on his shoulder -- perturbed when it was not lifted -- and then, with a turn in his chair, to Mischa. "[If he did, he would be complaining a great deal more about having to suffer our company.]"

Klaus was quiet as he processed their conversation, slowly, and uttered with equal care, "[You two are very friendly. Do Soviets breed you to be pervert, Mischa?]

The Soviet considered, then cheerfully explained. "[No. Observation, and the Major himself taught me that I am disliked by Eroica as much as you dislike him.] What was the word you used, Major Gloria? Repugnant, was it?" The hand on Dorian's shoulder patted once fondly before slipping away.

And Klaus watched in obvious amusement as Dorian all but shuddered. "[So men exist that 'turn you off', huh?]" he asked in German, laughing.

"[Jealous that you're not one of them?]" Eroica snapped, somehow keeping a wary eye on Mischa while at the same time glaring at Panzer.

"[Yes.]" It was *good* to see the NATO man riled -- knocked off his little perch of calm and fluffy Britishness.

Dorian was certain Panzer wouldn't be half so amused if he was the one suffering the large Soviet's pawing. Mischa had meaty boxer's hands, and the mere thought of them touching him, even atop layers of clothing, was enough to turn Eroica's stomach. It was small consolation that Mischa did it only for the discomfort it caused his enemy; he didn't seem inclined to do anything more than touch, and laugh.

Now, if Panzer had touched him, with fine-muscled, long-fingered hands used for thieving... oh, a different matter entirely! The less layers of clothing, the better...

"[Harder for you when the shoe is on the other foot?]"

He wouldn't give the smug thief the satisfaction of an answer to that. "[What next?]" he asked bluntly of Mischa, rising stiffly from the table. With food, however bad, in his belly, Eroica felt much improved. The light-headed sensation he'd been experiencing most of the afternoon was lifting, and with clarity returned he decided it was time to reassess his situation.

Klaus, too, stood up, and he was blotting the edge of his split lip with a rough napkin that'd been provided. "[A shooting in the woods?]" he asked in German, "[Or will we be cutting firewood?]"

"[We're too valuable to shoot, and putting us to work provides too many opportunities for escape,]" Eroica supplied, tone flat as if reading from a text book. Perhaps he was paraphrasing Intelligence regulation -- it was for Panzer's benefit, and Mischa's a little, to keep him in a good mood. Answering an amateur's inane questions was tiring on patience.

He switched back to Soviet, pressing, "[Will we be smuggled out of the country by plane? Boat? Submarine? By now you realise that we're both being hunted for.]" The pity was that his and Panzer's men would both be blaming the other for their leaders' disappearance. Not even Bonham would imagine Soviet involvement.

"Why are you Soviets hiding here in the woods when you have a residency set up in London?" Klaus asked curiously as he stretched long legs idly. The false naive tone of his voice was mocking -- obviously he was implying that Mischa wasn't important enough to be there.

But he was implying it with information he, a civilian thief, wasn't supposed to know!

Mischa kept his smug expression as he gestured for Panzer to stand and follow, or, if need be, be prodded at gunpoint. "[You,]" he addressed Eroica, "[know better than to expect an answer to such a question. And as for you...]" His attention swung in the thief's direction. "[I find your prattle un-amusing. If you care to know KGB business, you and the Major may compare theories to your hearts' content. You'll have all night, although I highly recommend you spend some of that time sleeping. We've all a long trip in front of us.]"

"[Off to the Communist's paradise?]" he sneered in German as he moved forwards as gestured. "[Can I take a moment to relieve myself, before I'm sealed away with that pervert for the night?]"

The Soviet nodded graciously, and answered in Soviet. "[Of course.]"

"[Wait a minute...]" Eroica's brows were snapped tightly together in suspicion, and he moved stiffly to stand before Panzer. "Sorry, Darling." Though he didn't look it as he picked up the man's arm, turning it over to better get at the cuff button.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Panzer snapped, jerking backwards from the Major.

A gesture from a curious Mischa brought two guards up to hover at Panzer's shoulders. "[You make him uncomfortable,]" the KGB man observed, his amusement obvious. "[Proceed Major, by all means.]"

Dorian tried again for Panzer's arm, with another soft murmur of, "Sorry."

"Don't touch me!!!" he snarled, though his arm was snagged and Dorian could feet the length of the dinner knife pressed against the inside of his fore-arm.

"It's for your own good," Dorian soothed, his fingers swift and knowing as they peeled back the sleeve -- the opportunity for a light caress to the smooth skin at the man's wrist too good to pass up -- to expose that concealed knife. He held the German's eyes as he removed it, his expression caught between genuinely apologetic and angry. "Soviet flatware is cheap stuff, not up to the strain of a good fight. You'd have only got yourself into trouble if you'd tried to use it."

Klaus' eyes burned with anger as he watched Dorian's actions under the watchful Soviets -- if it brought on another search, his plan would be ruined, and they'd perhaps lose their only chance for escape... /And if that happens, I'll fucking kill him.../

The knife was tossed aside, to skitter across the tabletop, and Eroica turned as primly as he could on the one good leg and headed after a laughing Mischa. The hot-headed idiot! The bit about the flatware was true; it would have been disaster to them both if he'd drawn the ridiculously cheap knife and threatened anyone with it. More likely the Soviets would have discovered it missing as soon as the trays had been taken back to the kitchen. And if he thought Dorian was going to be left behind while he ran for freedom, the damned thief needed his head examined!

What the Damned thief needed just then, though, was a good, hard, drink. Apparently disarmed and discredited as a bumbling idiot, Klaus was left to follow Mischa and Dorian to the edge of the tree-line, where the Soviet gestured to him to do his business. With Dorian nearby and watching.

Watching with interest, though that interest was thwarted when Panzer noticed and angled his body away. Damn it! A little fun at the end of a miserable day would have been a god-send for his nerves, but Panzer had to ruin even that!

He finished his piss slowly -- *fuck* he hated having people watch him use the toilet -- and zipped his slacks closed, pivoting sharply back to Dorian and Mischa, and awaiting anything else that would be done before they were sealed away.

Apparently nothing, as the prisoners were marched immediately to the truck and tossed in again. "[Pleasant dreams,]" Mischa could be heard to say above the sound of the door rattling down. And then the lock was thrown and bolted, and the pair were plunged into a silent darkness.

"I hope your fucking leg hurts like hell," Klaus bit out.

"You ass!" Eroica returned, the words sounding like they'd come from between clenched teeth. "I'm sick of your indelicate blundering! You've NO idea the calibre of agent you're dealing with! From now on, leave the planning to the professional, and don't fucking get in my way!"

"Don't fucking get in *your* way?! You almost spoiled everything!" the German hissed, as he took great pleasure in pulling one of the stolen Soviet guns, cocking it obviously in the silence, and pressing it up underneath the blonde's ribs. "What would have happened if I'd been searched again?"

Fingers, still chill despite that Eroica had gotten some sustenance into him, latched onto Panzer's wrist. For a long moment there was silence, then a very soft, unsteady sound that finally resolved itself into laughter. "You... I truly cannot believe this..."

Another gun was pressed into Dorian's fingers, the one nestled against his side still in place. *TWO* guns!!

"[You and Mischa fell like bricks for my ploy at idiocy when I attacked those agents. Neither of you thought I was stealing guns,]" he chuckled, a soft, vicious sound.

"[Idiot.]" The gun he'd been handed was immediately pressed to Panzer's temple, hard enough to tilt the thief's head slightly, and Eroica was more than half tempted to also cock the thing. "[And when the men turn in for the night and discover their weapons missing? What then?]"

Panzer didn't flinch, though -- he was calm, confident and well at ease with guns. "Hopefully I won't be suspected of taking them. Tell me, did you have a better plan?"

"I've been too busy baby-sitting your temper and rash impatience all afternoon to think of one!" Not to mention fighting down dizziness and pain and the occasionally throbbing headache besides, but it would do him no good to tell Panzer the extent of his troubles, save to amuse him.

"I don't need anyone to fucking watch me, you fag," he sneered. "I can take care of myself."

With a sound of disgust, the gun was yanked away from Panzer's temple, though his wrist wasn't freed quite yet. "Funny... I don't recall ever meeting you on a day that you didn't get yourself captured in one way or another."

"It's a curse I have that only comes into play when I'm around you," he snapped, jerking his wrist free. "Shit-luck."

"I don't need to blame my problems on luck. I know damned well who's responsible for them." Everything from a stolen painting and a ransacked office, to an injured leg and the KGB!

"You can't blame the fucking KGB on me -- I keep an eye on all the intelligence agencies' movements, and there's nothing supposed to be happening at the London residency. So this caught me off guard."

"Goes to show what a fucking amateur you are, to let *anything* catch you off guard. Your research isn't too thorough, is it? First you miss that I'm NATO, and now this." Although to be fair, NATO only knew the KGB was in England because they'd watched them enter.

"Well, you didn't seem to be on your guard about them! Not a qualm about coming out here!!" Klaus' voice fell into a lower growl still, and he wanted to reach out and start to strangle the blonde.

"I was only trying to give you the benefit of the doubt," the Major sniffed, shifting in preparation to sit. Standing on his leg was killing him! "Should have known you can't deal honourably in any situation. I suppose any plan for escape I concoct shouldn't include you, as you'll turn on me the instant you get the chance!"

"I'm dealing honourably enough now -- I haven't fucking shot you yet!!!" Why couldn't the idiot NATO man understand that it was in BOTH their interests to work together until they were both to safety?

The cold of the truck floor was preferable to standing, and Dorian even managed to prop his leg up against the side, easing a little of the hurt. He still felt like throttling Panzer for that. Regrettably, he also wouldn't mind fucking him, and killing the man would be *such* a pity, if only for the waste of that beautiful body... "[Can it, Darling. You know damned well Mischa would probably have you shot in retaliation. I'm more valuable than you to the KGB.]"

"And that's why I can't let you remain in their custody," Panzer agreed, sinking down to sit cross-legged. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Not if you share." So, Panzer was the one doing the rescuing, was he? That notion would have been enough to make Eroica laugh aloud, were he not in such a dismal mood.

"'s not a wimpy British cigarette," Klaus commented blandly as he handed Eroica one from his pack, and the lighter after he'd lit his own. It necessitated fingers to brush, and Klaus kept that to a minimum.

Eroica didn't seem inclined to press the issue, and his own were still very chill. Perhaps that was why he cradled the lighter's flame for a long, contemplative moment before dipping his face to light the cigarette. Strong, hot smoke filled his lungs, immediately soothing. "Thanks."

The temporary light of the lighter, and the dim glow from their cigarettes were a comfort. "Consider this a truce until we're both out of here."

"I'm thinking on that," the NATO man told him. "Unless you're good at navigating through the woods in the dark, I would suggest any escape attempt be postponed until morning at the earliest."

"The Soviets won't be back to check on us again until then at the earliest -- we've been 'put to bed' for the evening." /With a pervert, which is not my idea of a good time./

That earned Panzer a throaty chuckle. "You know... I think Mischa is disappointed that I haven't seduced you already. It would be fitting with his image of me, and I'm not about to give him that pleasure. So you can damned well relax."

"Good -- I won't want you dead so badly if you keep your fucking pervert hands off me." He did relax, but only by slow degrees and the help of his cigarette.

"I already told you -- you're not my type." Good enough perhaps for a quick, meaningless fling, but whatever pleasure could come from such a tryst would be un-worth the monumental effort it would take to win over such a man.

"Then what -- you've been hitting on me to piss me off?!!!"

If Eroica hadn't been lying on his back, he would have attempted a shrug. "It's something to do. I like seeing you unsettled. Besides, I didn't say the idea held no appeal. You're just not worthy of any long-term attentions."

"Morally loose and a pervert -- twice as bad." The tip of his cigarette glowed brightly for a moment as he inhaled, and then faded when he exhaled that smoky breath. "'m fucking amazed the military lets you stay."

"You're no prize yourself," the Major shot back, his cigarette bobbing unhappily with the words. "I generally don't waste my nights arguing with crude, self-serving, murderous thieves when I can help it."

"Must be a nice change," came the arrogant return.

"It ranks right up there with having an eyeball gouged out with a hot poker," Eroica agreed.

"Which is still better than sleeping with another man," Klaus said agreeably.

"Don't knock it until you've tried it," Eroica advised, flicking ash from his cigarette with care not to get it in his hair. "Men are uncomplicated. Better that than sleep with some damned woman, and all the emotional baggage and responsibility that goes with it. Not that you'd know. With your personality, you've probably never gotten sex that you didn't have to pay cash up front for."

Eroica couldn't see the faint hint of an angry flush rising on Panzer's high cheeks, but the distinctly voiced, "Fuck off, you pervert," gave him all the answer he'd wanted.

That struck a little close to home, had it? Eroica's voice oozed amusement as he continued blithely, "You're a prude, aren't you? Please don't tell me you're a virgin, Darling. I would laugh so hard that it would probably kill me."

"Maybe we can use that to get us out of here -- if you and the Soviets died laughing, I wouldn't have any trouble at all walking out of this fucking camp." The dark, wry tone was answer, too, to Dorian's *other* questions.

Eroica flopped over, crawling to his knees to regard the thief as best he could in the fading glow of their cigarettes. "Oh my God... You're serious!" With that tone, Panzer couldn't possibly be anything but.

"It's none of your fucking business, NATO," Panzer bit out. What a miserable day -- humiliation after humiliation... Major Gloria would be in for a *surprise* when the tables turned.

"Want me to fix that little deficiency of yours?" Eroica offered, crawling closer. "I've been told I give marvellous head, not that you'd have anything to compare the experience to..." Perhaps this day wasn't going to end on such a foul note after all. It was always a rare delight to get his hands on a virgin, and in his imagination Panzer's features adopted an enticing blush to match the outraged words. It was such a pity he couldn't actually see the man!

"You're not going to lay a god-damned hand on me!" Klaus barked out roughly, backing up from Dorian. He knew full well that his cigarette was giving away his position, but he couldn't lift a hand to remove it, not without loosing a moment of motion, in which he could be caught...

"Oh, honestly!" Eroica sounded disgusted as he slowed his pursuit, allowing Panzer to back himself into a corner. "I can't believe this... Have you no spine? What could you possibly find so frightening about an offer of sex?" He paused, his tone softening as a thought occurred. "Afraid you might like it?"

"Yes! No, I... Dammit, stay away!!!" Why the *fuck* wasn't his mind working clearly? It was something he didn't *want* to think of, didn't have to think of, so why was it so hard to answer a fucking question?

"Easy..." Just short of the cowering thief Eroica stopped, settling back with a little hiss of discomfort. Perhaps he'd gone too far, judging by Panzer's reaction. It had taken surprisingly little to put him completely on the defensive. "I already said I wasn't going to do anything. See?" His hand felt for Panzer's, grasping the rough, strong fingers in chill ones that trembled very slightly. "To force the issue is distasteful, and I doubt I'm capable of forcing you, even in top form."

That chilled, shaking sign of Eroica's weakness calmed Panzer, gave him the strength to move again and slip his hand free of the Major's grasp. "Then leave me alone on that."

Eroica nodded, no more than a glint of golden hair in the near total darkness. "Fine. I was only trying for interesting conversation. I detest boredom. If you find my topic so distasteful, you choose one instead."

"I can't tell if your topic was more distasteful, or you, getting near me like that!" the German snapped at him. "I'd talk about art, but it wouldn't interest you."

"Only because I would prefer to discuss aesthetics, and you market value." In truth Eroica's knowledge of art went not far beyond liking what he did and not what he did not, and not being able to say definitely what made one piece over another catch his interest. "Pick something else, something neutral."

He was, though, sorely underestimating Panzer's knowledge of art; technique drew him more than anything, then the mechanics of line, and the history to each piece, the inspiration... It was more than just a pretty picture, it was a gestalt theory to be taken in entirely or not at all.

"I don't think we have a neutral ground."

The Major sighed, huddling himself smaller though not moving away from Panzer. It was getting cold now that the sun had fallen, and being even close to another body lent the illusion of warmth. "Tell me your name," he prompted. "Any one will do, if you don't care to give your real one. I just feel strange calling you 'Panzer'."

"Heinz," he uttered after a moment, "you can call me that, if my cover-name won't do."

As if the Major expected him to give him his first or last name! Never -- even though Klaus knew it wouldn't take a spy long, if he had any wits, to find out anything he wanted to know.

Especially after he'd given away so many unwitting hints about himself! And Eroica, it was widely known, was the most persistent of spies...

"Heinz..." It didn't fit at all for Panzer, but then, aliases never did, in Dorian's experience. "Well then, Heinz. You've vetoed my choice of topic, and refused to give one of your own. Have you any other ideas for passing the time?"

"Sleep, so the Soviets won't find us dead tired come morning."

"Can't. I'm too wound, too uncomfortable." Eroica could, when necessity dictated, work for days straight on little or no sleep, and suffer only minor wear for it.

"You're wounded -- trust me that sleep will help you heal quicker," the thief warned him. "Any opportunity for rest should be taken -- there's no sure knowing that our first chance at escape will work."

"I'm not buying the concern," Eroica sniffed, shifting for comfort that continued to elude him. The ribbed sheet-metal truck floor was rude and hard, not at all to his tastes. Whatever sleep he eventually managed would not be restful.

"If I wanted you dead, Major Gloria, I would have fucking shot you in the head when you stepped into the woods."

"If I wanted to fuck you, Heinz, I would have done it when you were in my custody and handcuffed; yes, I believe we've already laid down these facts and even trodden them thoroughly into the ground.. Does every third thing out of your mouth have to be a vague threat?"

"Does everything out of *yours* have to be sexual innuendo?" Panzer shifted again, tossing his dead cigarette into the opposite corner, before he shifted to lay down.

"I'm only returning tit for tat," the Major pointed out. "If you can drop the threats and speak to me like a civil human being, I'll drop the innuendo. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal." His lighter clicked on again, and it gave him a chance to pinpoint Eroica -- too damn close to him for his liking -- before he turned it off.

Eroica had savoured his cigarette, nursing it slowly because he was unlikely to get another. Unfiltered meant that he could smoke it right down to a little nub, but when the line of red became dangerously close to his lips, he had to stub it out. "Are you... settling in for sleep?"

"Not quite." No, he was settling in to do his nightly routine of sit-ups after stretching a little. Too long in an space too short to stand properly was cramping his muscles.

"What are you doing, then?" The sound of exercise was not expected, and hence not immediately placed. Eroica scooted a little closer in his curiosity, and was surprised when the thief sat up swiftly from the darkness, nearly knocking their heads together.

And then, while Dorian was still recoiling, laid back down -- only to do it over again. "[Twenty seven... twenty eight...]" Odd circumstances were not something to make Panzer break from his routine.

"You're crazy," the blonde decided at last, what may have been a hint of admiration creeping into his voice. Because it gave him something to do, and because he felt odd listening to Panzer do sit-ups in the darkness, he edged gingerly forward to hold down the man's toes for him.

Few men would *ever* do sit-ups in trousers, boots and a work-shirt -- but Panzer was, and he didn't protest Eroica's slight aid. There was less rocking with someone to hold his feet, and each sit-up was faster than the last. Up to one hundred, all without breaking a sweat, before he scooted back from Dorian. "Thanks. [I'm crazy, but healthy.]"

/And warm I'd imagine, after that.../ Ah, but he couldn't let his mind wander in that direction. He'd promised, and once formed it was only a matter of time before the thoughts found his lips. "So you are, and a creature of habit, too. This is all quite frustrating, Heinz. Every few minutes I'm having to alter my opinion of you, and none of the bits I have fit together nicely."

"Well, I can't tell if you're a professional or a fop, so we're even," the thief drawled, shifting to lean in the corner. There, he had a chance that his own body heat would warm the chill metal a little more. Then, he'd be able to stay warm through the night.

"It's possible to be both, you know." Though Eroica didn't like that Panzer had caught him at bad times on booth meetings, and had been privileged to see more fop and less professional than the Major cared to show anyone.

"I can't quite see how," Klaus shrugged, shifting a little more until he was comfortable -- he just wished that his shirt still had both sleeves.

Dorian was intensely jealous, as it sounded like the man actually was settling in for sleep! "You'll understand eventually," he said with quiet conviction. "It's all a matter of being able to separate my professional life from my private one." Being able to, but doing so only when the need arose.

"I'm not going to be around you for an eventually," Klaus uttered, closing his eyes to the dark of the trailer. "Though I'm aware of how to keep separate lives."

"I'm sure you do. Is your tank commander father still alive?"

"No. He's been dead for some years," was the vague answer given. Best to keep it vague, so there was no clear information to pinpoint.

"Probably for the best. I'm sure he wouldn't approve of your choice of career," the agent guessed.

"To a degree, I suppose," Klaus snorted. "If there was a good war, I'd be a tank officer, but there isn't, so. One makes due with their natural talents." With his eyes closed, he could only *hear* Dorian approaching him, but it was enough to keep him wary.

"We're not so very different after all," Eroica mused softly, his voice terribly close now. "Say, Heinz... You cold?"

Eroica could almost hear Panzer swallow. "[Yes, some.]"

"I'm freezing. Do you think you can stand touching a pervert fag if it means sharing warmth?" That was wryly said, with a good dose of self-mocking humour as Eroica kept his tone carefully neutral.

"[It'll give the Soviets a laugh,]" he decided with a soft, almost nervous chuckle. "Get over here, then, and don't touch more than needed."

"I wouldn't dream of it." The almost-fond 'darling' wanted to slip out, but Eroica had promised to behave himself...

The other man, despite his agreement with the plan, leapt as if stung when the Major settled a hand on his shoulder, and Eroica paused to let the man's taught nerves settle.

They settled slowly -- a day of innuendo had not left Panzer's sharp mind at ease with the situation at all. "Just settle in quickly."

Eroica fumbled a bit, curling against Panzer's side only after struggling with the man's arm, which seemed to want nothing to do with holding him. "You -- oof -- can tell you're not used to letting anyone into your personal space...."

"How's that?" the other man's voice asked him stiffly from the darkness.

"You're perfectly rigid, Darling," Dorian pointed out gently, as he snaked an arm around the German's waist. "Relax and pretend I'm a pretty girl, if that helps."

In fact, it was probably a horrible thing for him to have suggested. Panzer only grew stiffer still. "[It doesn't]"

"Then... pretend whatever you want -- I don't care. It was only a suggestion." Eroica didn't have to pretend at all. It was decidedly *nice* to curl himself against the German's body, lean and well-muscled, still warm from exercising as he'd suspected. Dorian was beginning to believe sleep a possibility after all.

A possibility for *him*, but not one for the stiff-armed man who held him, and only barely. "[Not going to move again...?]"

"I'm settled," the blonde man confirmed. "Though it would be really nice if you would try to sleep too. I'll feel strange sleeping if you're up all night watching me." Panzer's words had been more rumble than speech, coming from a chest that Eroica's ear was very close to.

"My eyes are closed," Panzer rumbled darkly. "I'm just not... used to... I'd rather not be doing this, if we weren't going to fucking freeze to death."

"Consider it early penance for the leg," Eroica drawled, allowing weariness to show in his voice for the first time that day. Perhaps a show of vulnerability would further help Panzer to relax?

But somehow the syrupy drawl crawled it's way up Klaus' spine and made him shiver at the sound of it. Yes, NATO kept the fag because he could seduce -- was built to do it, in fact, with a beautiful lean body, pretty face, and that voice... /He's too much like a fucking woman, without being weak. Don't even think of him in any way at all!/ "That'll scar."

"I'll wear it proudly as a remembrance of you." Not like there was anything else he could do -- he might as well look on the bright side of a bad situation.

"Maybe you won't fuck with dangerous thieves anymore," Panzer told him, tone half warning. /Because I don't ever want to see you again -- you're a disaster waiting to happen, fucking NATO boy./

"On the contrary." Perhaps unconsciously though that was unlikely, Eroica made a small, contented sound as he snuggled closer still. "I find danger to be very... stimulating. The scar will remind me every time I see it of my desire to hunt you down and bring you to justice."

Panzer stiffened more; it was odd for Eroica to have that happen when he snuggled down that way -- but the man's arms were like wood, barely bent at all at the elbows. "Then I'll kill you when we meet again."

"You won't." The Major was sounding drowsy, and the thumb of the hand wrapped around Panzer picked up a soft rubbing motion, an absent caress. "I don't think you're heartless, or you really would have shot me when I entered the woods."

"I wanted my fucking gun back -- what if you hadn't had it?"

The NATO man wasn't buying it. "You could have shot me after you'd taken the gun. You didn't though, and you won't the next time we meet." He was terribly certain that there would be a next time.

"There will be no such thing as a next time for us," the thief growled. "Stop talking of such stupid things."

It earned him a sigh from the man tucked tightly, *almost* contentedly, against his side. "Then you talk, if you don't like my words. Silence is uncomfortable."

"I don't have anything to talk about." Blunt words, meant to cow Dorian, though Panzer sensed that they probably wouldn't work.

He pretended not to notice, and took the words instead as a request for Dorian to provide a topic. "You can talk about... my painting -- the Man in Red. What is so special about Cousin Benny that you went to all the trouble to steal him?"

"It caught my eye. I'd planned on keeping it for a few weeks, then ransoming it to you when I was bored of it." Now, though... now the thing would be *kept*, after all the fucking trouble he'd gone to over it, and Eroica knew it.

"Why did he catch your eye?" the Briton pressed. "I can't understand why you'd appreciate him and not me, when there's such a strong resemblance."

"It's all stroke of line and technique, not the actual face -- the work on it is almost photographic." Stunning, for such an underrated painter -- the man's one masterpiece, and Panzer had to hold it in his possession for at least a few weeks. Or until he could no longer stand being reminded of the Major every time he looked at it!

"Hmph." Dorian realised that his eyes were closed -- it was difficult to notice in the darkness of the truck -- and he decided to let them stay that way as the lids felt tremendously heavy, and meager sight was not worth the effort of lifting them. "You're the first man I know to prefer a centuries-dead pirate to his very alive descendant."

"You piss me off, and your painting doesn't!"

"You intrigued me first. It's your own fault."

"It's yours for being a god-damned fucking pervert! Stick with harassing men who want your attentions!" /I'd throw you over to the other fucking side of the truck if it weren't so cold.../ The cold, in fact, was eating away at him, slowly. It was now just a chill at the edges of his limbs, but it was deepening.

"Don't yell at me, Darling." More than a request, it felt something like an order, if a somewhat chiding one. "I've been extremely patient with you, with Mischa and the situation in general, when I could be selfishly throwing a tantrum as you are. I don't need any *more* shit from you than I've already gotten."

"[Then shut up and go to sleep,]" Klaus snapped sharply. "I can't rest with you... like this."

"And I can't sleep when it feels like I'm holding an iron girder! Isn't there some way you can relax a little? It wouldn't kill you to put an arm around me -- might even keep your hands warm."

Grudgingly, Klaus moved a little -- his arm, the one that was missing a sleeve, coming around Dorian's upper back. That helped a little, and cold skin got to press against the other man's warm shirt. /Warmth... think warmth, think strong.../ He had to, or else he faced one stiff, uncomfortable night. If he could just flood his mind with comforting thoughts...

He began, very softly, to sing to himself.

The very soft notes startled Dorian, who lifted his chin in marginal interest from where it had been pressed to Panzer's shoulder. /Remarkable.../ For a man with a gruff manner and thunderous, treads-on-asphalt voice, the tune was sweet, almost... nostalgic. A hint of familiarity teased at Eroica's mind, and he let Panzer sing it once through before inquiring quietly, "What was that? It was... very lovely."

"'s the Panzerlied. My father taught it to me, but I only know the first three verses," he shrugged, voice not lifted up to the treads-on-asphalt level yet -- Panzer had amazing range when he used it, voice able to drop, as it did just then, into a low breath of words. A tone that had all the effect on Eroica as Eroica's sensual drawl was keyed to have on Panzer.

/I have promised to behave. I have given my word, and I will not break it. I have promised to-/

In the end, it wasn't that promise that held Eroica back from loosing another round of heavy innuendo, perhaps pressing the issue of his attraction to the thief. It was the fact that he was tired and desperately comfortable; a pair of warm, softening arms appealed more to him just then more than sex, despite the shiver Panzer's glorious voice had sent coursing through him. "You have a nice voice," Eroica complimented simply. "If you sing it again, I might be asleep before you finish."

"Then I'll do it again." And the tune was the same the second time, softly voiced, a little drowsy. Something told Dorian that, for whatever reason, Panzer was deeply enamoured to... tanks, in general.

The second time was just as nice, words less important than the respectful way Panzer sang them. It was by far the nicest lullaby Dorian had gotten in years. True to his word, he shifted the smallest bit closer, happy to nuzzle his cold nose into the heat of the German man's neck, and before the final verse died away was fast asleep.

Which left Klaus unwilling to move, or to sleep.

In fact, he was still sitting as he had been, when the Major awoke in the morning; a night without sleep wasn't so bad -- he could still function at top form for at least another day before it caught up with and rolled over him.

Eroica woke early -- sleep had been more of a nap than a true, deep rest -- immediately aware of where he was and whose arms he was within, and also aware that he'd spent many nights in worse comfort and company. Admitting consciousness wasn't an option so long as he wanted to savour that comfort, so he stayed a while longer, eyes closed and breathing even, pretending.

The darkness in the trailer helped his case -- Klaus could only estimate the hour of morning as still early, from the faint glow from the bottom crack of the door. Panzer stayed statue still, unmoving beyond his breaths, unthinking. Not thinking, he'd learned, had served him better on many occasions than trying to rationalise something to himself.

Finally Eroica did stir, after his thoughts had wandered beyond the immediate needs of warmth and hunger. No motion, but he spoke into the darkness, his rich voice thick with sleep. "Been up all night?"

"No." A slightly hard-edged, tense lie, but better to give it than get some innuendo back about watching the fucking NATO man sleep. Klaus just hadn't been able to manage it from his nerves.

"You don't sound very rested." The blonde man was careful to stay very still, knowing he was soon to be dumped unceremoniously from Panzer's arms. "I slept... surprisingly well. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he was told gruffly, and then the arms that had been barely holding him, for warmth alone, withdrew. "Now, move.

"Your morning-after manners need some work," the thief was informed, as Eroica slowly unwrapped his own arms. The motion transformed into a luxurious stretch, more suited to a lush feather mattress and silk sheets than a cold, grimy truck trailer.

"I don't need your fucking morning after manners because there hasn't been one," the thief bit out at him, standing abruptly to his feet.

The blonde bit down with some difficulty the reply that he'd had the occasional night encounter that hadn't progressed far beyond holding, and that he didn't count them all failures. Instead he offered the only marginally better, "It's still an uncomfortable situation Darling, just the sort manners are supposed to make easier."

"I don't think manners could make easier waking up with another man beside you," Klaus scoffed, "[You pervert.]"

"[Broken record, Darling,]" the Briton scowled, giving his leg a tentative stretch. He was pleased to find that the pain had dulled a little over the night, probably from cold, but that his toes still responded when he asked them to wiggle. "[I'm getting sick of hearing that from you.]"

"Good. I'm sick of being near you." Klaus stretched a little, standing, and then moved to the other side of the trailer with touch alone, and began to do push-ups.

"And he thinks I'm the sick one," Eroica could be heard to grumble softly, as he set about adapting his morning ritual to the circumstances. There was nothing to be done for having slept in his clothes except smooth them with his hand; fingers pulled gently through snarled curls weren't as good as a comb, but would have to suffice.

It was at forty that Klaus stopped, and then stretched out on his back for a moment, before he sat up in the now too familiar darkness. "Don't forget to slit your eyes when they open the door. It's still before full sunrise, but a light difference is a light difference."

"[You're funny when you give orders.]" Weight experimentally applied to his injured leg found it for the most part sound, though needles of pain made themselves immediately known. Standing would be manageable, running not without aid.

"[How so?]"

"[You seem to be labouring under the delusion that I'm the idiot.]"

"I assume everyone is an idiot until I've had proven otherwise," the German told him in flat, cold English, heavily accented. "Same as you do."

"Then, we're both about to have the chance to prove to each other otherwise. Are you ready?" the Major asked. In the dim light, it was possible to see him reach for the handgun Panzer had given him, counting the available rounds.

"I've been ready for hours," the thief snarled at him as he shifted the weight of the gun into his right hand.

"Good." Eroica had apparently woken reenergized, and was now seeking a plan of action to funnel that energy into. "Hand me your lighter."

I brought about an unfortunate brush of fingers, but now that his wits were gathered Panzer's hand didn't jerk back; instead, he simply withdrew.

There was a grin on Eroica's lips for that, unseen in the low light. He flicked the metal top up, producing a brief lick of flame in what Panzer recognised was standard equipment-checking procedure. "Very good..."

"I filled it up before I came out here." Because he smoked so much, and because it was a very handy tool.

Eroica hadn't got a proper look at it the night before, nor could he now, because they would need the light it made for a more pressing purpose. It was heavy though, with a raised pattern that felt well-worn in his hands. "You very attached to it?"

Panzer tensed for a moment -- the man was holding his personal lighter, not his work lighter, and his *personal* lighter bore his family's crest... "It's been with me for a while. You'd better not fuck it up."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Eroica answered, the cockiness Klaus remembered from their first encounter making itself known in his voice. "It's my assurance that you won't leave me behind when we make a run for it. I'm going to need help, Darling." He only hoped Panzer was half so attached to the lighter as he was to his damned Magnum.

The Magnum that Mischa now had.

"Need help how?"

"The leg." Dorian snorted. "I doubt I'm up to the mad-cap dash we'll have to make to get away from our hosts."

"I was already planning on dragging you with me," Panzer informed him.

Dragging -- lovely. Dorian supposed that if he came out of the adventure with the same number of holes in his body as it had had going in -- not counting his ankle, of course -- it could be considered a break-even success.

Scant moments later, Mischa's voice reached them.

"Wake up, pretties," it laughed thickly. "I'll give you one minute to both get decent, then it's breakfast and moving out!" A heavy hand hit against the door, vibrations jarring through them both.

Dorian could hear the safety being taken off of the gun the German thief had stolen, so loud that he felt certain that Mischa must have heard it as well. /No time!/ He thrust out a demanding hand, with the other nervously flicking the lighter cap back again. A hissed whisper, "Your shirt, quickly!"

Shirt? But he was wearing it!! Still, given the matter, there was no chance of arguing, no time, and the god-damned fucking Soviet too close-by to put up much of a fight about it. Gun still grasped in his fingers, he started to unbutton what was left of his muchly abused shirt, pulling it out from his pants where it'd been tucked in. "Why?" was the equally tense whisper, until he eyed the lighter again, stripped the thing off, and shoved it at Dorian.

For a fag, the NATO man was a good thinker. He'd just never say that sentiment, fleeting, aloud.

He probably wouldn't have to, as the speed in which he fulfilled the request spoke of approval and fleeting trust at the very least. The Major's eyes echoed that same trust as he flicked them briefly from Klaus' face to the gun tucked cocked and ready at his side. "When they scatter, start firing," he whispered. Useless instructions, as Panzer had already guessed his intent, and before setting the wadded up shirt ablaze he stole a moment in which to be pleasantly amazement at the well co-ordinated team desperation had made of them.

/Just... PLEASE live up to your reputation as a marksman!/

His timing was, as always, impeccable. More Soviet voices -- five in all counted -- could be heard grumbling orders and responses in the dank pre-dawn air. Then the sound of hardware clanking, the lock and bolting mechanism on the door being thrown. It rumbled open just as the shirt had become a small, startling ball of fire, which Dorian hurled straight into the knot of unsuspecting Soviets.

After that, Klaus was a blur -- out into the semi-darkness, firing off two quick shots that caught the nearest two Soviets cleanly in the head. Mischa tried to grab him, but it was hard -- since Klaus darted back in to grab Dorian by the waist, picking off one more Soviet.

The agent was more than grateful for that support, as without it his ankle would have crumpled beneath him as he leaped to the ground. As it was, pain blazed up his leg, an unpleasant reminder that he wasn't so numb from cold as he might have been had he not spent the night tucked against Panzer.

The pair hobbled a few steps, taking shelter around the back side of the truck. In the time they were moving Klaus managed to hit yet another Soviet; Dorian, while professional about pulling free his purloined gun and readying it to fire, hesitated to actually pull the trigger. /Don't need to -- not yet. Not yet.../

"We'll take the truck," Klaus hissed, taking aim and taking out one more Soviet. Five shots fired, three left. He moved from the side of the truck up towards the driver's side on the right. "Give me cover fire while I wire it!"

A grim nod from the blonde. "Yes. Quickly!" Reinforcements would arrive any moment. Dorian had propped his back against the unfortunately familiar metal side of the truck, and quickly edged his way near to the bumper. Then, gun at the ready before him, he darted from cover to carefully squeeze off a few shots.

None of which managed to hit anything.

No dying noises, not even of bullets hitting flesh -- Klaus kept that noted peripherally in his mind, as he jerked open the door of the truck, and then stooped under the dash, quickly jerking out and twisting wires together. It would work, it would work....

A last twisted wire, touched to its other side, and the engine burbled to life. "NATO!"

"Coming!" Another rapid hail of bullets, wasted carelessly now that he wasn't having to conserve them. Still Dorian managed to hit very little -- chunks of bark flew off trees as the bullets splattered against them, but when firing through scattered, sheltering soldiers into a forest it was impossible to miss soldiers *and* trees. He was away instantly, scrambling for the door, propelled by a half-fear that the German brute would leave him behind after all. "Help me in!"

A rough hand grabbed his wrist, and with a jerk, he was pulled into the vehicle -- just as Klaus started to back it up at a ramming speed out of the clearing. "We're heading for *my* men!"

The NATO agent demanded, "Oh, and being behind the wheel suddenly puts you in charge?!" Though, slung across the thief's lap with his legs still flailing for the purchase that would propel him across the bench seat, Dorian was certainly no figure of authority.

"Yes." Flat, not even mocking or laughing in any manner as he backed the truck up *over* a fleeing agent, then finally shifted it forwards -- probably just to feel the bump the body made when the wheels ran over it a second time.

"Fine," snarled the blonde, as he finally managed to leverage himself up, partly blocking Panzer's visibility in the process -- as well as carelessly shoving his hands in some rather indelicate places. "Good luck finding them." /MY men have probably already rounded them up and taken them into custody!/

For his rudeness, he got a sharp snarl. "I'll find them -- truce is off once we reach the city, you damned fop. And give me my lighter back!" He would be showing up, bad enough, without a shirt and *still* without his gun!

"Better a fop than a cold-blooded, sadistic bastard!" The jar of the wheels moving over that fallen Soviet -- twice -- was a sickening motion that promised to remain with the Briton for some time. He finally managed to get himself upright on the bench next to Panzer, and though he scanned the mirrors for signs of early pursuit, no motion was made to honour the thief's demand.

Yet after a few long moments of Panzer's deranged driving through the woods, which finally got them onto a narrow side-road, Dorian noticed the out-held hand presented before him -- silently demanding his lighter back. Panzer *did* have a known reputation for his temper and blood-thirst...

But still the lighter was not given. Eroica had a reputation at least equal to the thief's for stubbornness and appalling temerity. Indeed he even seemed to perk up a bit under the glare and unsaid threats, as a woman might benefit from an admirer's flattery. "Our truce is over at the village, remember *Darling*? Get me delivered into the loving hands of my men, and you'll get your blasted lighter."

"I want it back *now*," Klaus rumbled, eyes still on the road, while his hand continued to demand. "I don't have my fucking gun back, which is why I went to so much trouble for..."

"And I don't have Cousin Benny," the NATO man drawled, easing back on his seat while a grin spread slowly on his lips. "Which leaves us for the moment even, aside from the little matter of my leg."

"You had it coming," Klaus growled. "And I made up for it by getting you out of there. So stop whining -- and keep your eyes ahead."

"I could have got out scot free on my own if you hadn't played the inexperienced oaf and pissed off dear Mischa." Which was truth, even if Panzer didn't believe him capable. In direct disregard of the order to remain fixed ahead, subtly caressing sapphire eyes slid over the German. "And besides, you *were* the one to get us caught in the first place. It's amazing that in the course of a week the infamous Panzer has been captured twice. Interpol must be a den of fucking lunatics to have not pinned you by the tail long before this."

"I'm going to push you out the door, fag, and roll over you with the truck, then take my lighter off of your dead body if you don't stop yapping. Understood? How did I get us caught in the first place? Hmn? Your problem to deal with those people, not mine."

Unconcerned in the face of threatened violence, Dorian continued to less-than cautiously run his eyes over the shirtless thief. "Yes, my problem. And I suppose it will also be my problem to retrieve your precious gun from Mischa? Won't that be fun. A pity you won't be able to watch my grand performance as I waltz in and take it, succeeding with ease where you've only managed to get yourself furious, cold, hungry, and half-naked."

"[That's it. That's fucking it,]" Klaus snarled, bringing his gun up to the side of Dorian's face without even having to look. "[You fucking arrogant Brit, acting like you weren't in that situation too -- your shit doesn't stink, huh? I should hang your body from your precious fucking NATO office building, and then we'll see a grand performance!!]"

Somehow, the threat of a weapon pressed to his head wasn't nearly so bad as holding one in his hand, cocked and ready for use -- especially when the threatening weapon wasn't loaded. "Seven rounds, Darling," the agent uttered softly, nevertheless staying perfectly still. "I *can* count well enough to know that you've used all you had."

"Eight," Klaus drawled more than calmly. He was *smiling*. "Eight."

A bluff? Dorian was certain of the number they'd counted over the previous night, gleaming cartridge shells faintly clinking in the German's hand, more precious than gold. Had he been holding one back? Eroica's tongue wet his lips, a sensual rather than nervous gesture. "So..."

"So give me my lighter back and I won't make the inside of this van messier than it already is." That same flat demand again, as Panzer stroked his finger lightly over the trigger.

Silence held sway for long moments, before Dorian slowly purred, "I don't know if it's your intention to make me desperately hot with the hard-ass routine, but it's working." But even he wasn't suicidal, and the remark was paired with his fishing around in his pocket to retrieve the little slip of metal.

Klaus steered with his *knee* for a moment, rather than lower the gun from Dorian's skull. He snapped up the lighter, felt over it with his thumb to feel the familiar crest, then shoved it back into his pocket. When it was secure, he slid the gun down between his skin and his slacks' waist-band at the small of his back, then sat back. "It's no routine."

"Oh." The Briton was subdued after that, still glancing for signs of pursuit, though less frequently as it seemed a greater likelihood that they had made a clean escape. But it didn't take a great judge of men to know that his silence hid a furiously working mind. /My men, or his? Who knows what we'll find in the village... It *would* be like him to lie about a last bullet And I've none left -- not that I could bring myself to damage a beauty like him. No routine...? Oh my./

It was almost enough to convince Eroica that he was in love. In lust and fascinated at the very least! That couldn't be denied at all by the NATO Major. The thief, murderous and cold or *not*, was sexy and feral in ways that just hit all of Dorian's buttons. No shirt and a gun tucked into his pants...

Klaus was blessedly oblivious of Dorian's exact thoughts, though he had enough of an inkling to still be on edge. A sharp turn was taken, sending Dorian *away* from him, and then they were on the main road.

"Hope there isn't too much blood on the bumper."

A disapproving sniff met that remark, the blonde wrinkling his nose as much for its callous tone as its coldness. "It was a waste. The Soviets were not shooting to kill either of us, else we would not have got out alive. And you go and kill several of Mischa's men. He'll want revenge for that, and I hope that he gets it! You could use a hard lesson on the rules of engagement between honourable opponents."

"He's killed a few of my men before. It's already a matter of revenge," Klaus drawled coldly. "NATO too I'm sure, and his countrymen..."

"Very well -- you've proven that both of you are adept at slaughter." The man's blonde head shook disgustedly, his posture tinged with true sadness. "It is still a waste..."

"Yes it is. It's also reality. Everyone, after all, is out in the world to better themselves," Klaus murmured, taking the slow turn into the town. "Mischa works for his 'cause', but he loves what he does. You work for yours -- but it must satisfy you to seduce men to get them to do what you want. I at least don't hide behind the veil of some organisation to rationalise why I steal."

"You hide instead behind the facade of a brute killer," Eroica pointed out, in an odd way wishing to prolong the trip back to the village. Every moment spent in the thief's presence was an opportunity to soak up minutiae of personality, pouncing especially on the hints of depth that Panzer wasn't aware of giving.

Perhaps the depth was natural, and the blunt brutishness the game? So many sides, it seemed... "Killer yes -- brute, though... [No brute could steal the things I've stolen. It's not my fault you'd rather fuck an enemy than kill them. You're a military prostitute.]"

A fact of which the Major seemed inordinately proud. "[You're wrong, Darling. A clever brute could have stolen the things you have. But no brute could have warmed an enemy in his arms and sang to him a soothing lullaby. If you would only try it, I am certain you too would find fucking a man much preferable to blowing his brains out.]"

"[I am certain that I would die if I ever did such a thing -- I'd have to kill whoever, then kill myself to keep my honour,]" Klaus growled at him, pulling to a stop in front of a pub. "This is as far as we go."

It would have been stupidity to ask how Panzer knew this was their destination. What looked like the only pub in the dinky town was where Bonham could be counted on to be found, provided that nothing had gone dreadfully wrong between Dorian's team and Klaus' gang.

Of course, after witnessing the scene *inside* the pub, the Major had had to subtly shift his understanding of the word 'dreadful'.

Climbing down from the truck was no fun task, especially when there was no strong pair of German arms to catch him as his ankle nearly collapsed from even the small portion of his weight he chanced putting on it. Mutual silence had reigned as the pair headed for the pub's door, truce holding still though it ran like the last grains of sand through an hourglass. "After you," Dorian offered stiffly, reasoning that it was wiser to have the armed thief before him than behind.

"I'm not going first so you can stare at my ass," Klaus growled at him, pulling the gun free from the waistband on his trousers to slid it into his pocket where it would be harder to steal from. "Get in there!"

"And wait for you to stick that wretched gun to my back?" The NATO man snorted. "I think not."

"Then we'll walk in abreast," he growled sharply, grabbing Dorian's arm to give him a jerk to his side, and then he dragged them both through the door.

In order to keep himself on his feet, Dorian had to grab tightly to one of Klaus' arms with both of his. "Oh, damn. And here I was hoping to convince you to carry me across... the... threshold..."

He found himself not the only one staring in obvious perplexion at the scene before him. Bonham, just settling back a nearly full glass of ale and wiping froth from his moustache, was quite obviously torn between worry and laughter to see his superior draped off the arm of a *shirtless* man who could only be Panzer!

Worse, the same sight seemed to have given the trim blonde man he was sharing a table with a heart attack. At least, why else would he be making panicked strangling noises and clutching at his chest?

There was, all in all, most of the 'watch' group within the pub from *both* sides, sitting and *socialising*!!!

"Major!!" A small man's voice rose in greeting as they approached, and then when he locked eyes on Klaus, he gave a *scream* and fainted dead off.

"Why the *FUCK* are you here?" Panzer growled, almost tossing Dorian off of his arm and towards a table, stalking towards the thief who seemed to be dying.

A was up from his seat before Panzer had taken two steps, actually kicking the thing over in his hurry to disassociate himself from the sociable setting. Several empty glasses in addition to the fresh round littered the area around where he and the agent had been sitting, and from the fact that they had been sitting fairly close together it seemed likely that sitting and drinking was not all that had been done.

"I-I... Nothing! I told him nothing, I swear!" he protested, flushing furiously.

"Jamesie...?" Abandoned against the table, Dorian listened for more of his agent's shrill voice.

"[You fucking, backstabbing, little!!!]" Fury cut Klaus' voice short, and he backhanded the small blond before he could say anything else. Then a hard bellow followed, called out to the rest of his men there. "[MOVE OUT!!]"

Poor little James, alas, was still passed out at the Major's feet.

Sensing that it was in his new acquaintances' best interests to not offer a parting word, Bonham watched A and the rest of the band of thieves scuttle for the door as if they were shadows chased by the noonday sun. That left either the furious Panzer or Eroica to settle his attention on, and of course his superior won out. "Sir, you're injured!" he observed, coming round to help Dorian.

"Don't worry -- it's nothing compared to the damage these past two days have done my pride." The Major was more than happy to lean on his stocky agent with a familiarity that was a bit uncomfortable to watch. "And someone help Jamesie up. I don't want that horrid man to step on him."

"Good-fucking-bye, Eroica," Panzer told him, surveying the room and all the beer that had been drunk. "I'll be kind and left NATO pick up the bill. Until we meet again." Because he was sure now... painfully so, that they would... A slight tilt of his head, and then he snapped off a sharp salute before slipping out to join his men. a truck could be heard sputtering to life, then a second, and they were gone.

"What happened to you, sir...?" Bonham asked, half-staring after the man who'd left.

/Not good-bye, Darling. Good luck./ Dorian spared a last glance over his shoulder to watch Panzer's marvellously muscular bare back exit the pub, and then dropped quickly his cheerful fop routine, letting his most trusted man know with a deep sigh the extent of his tiredness. "A lot. Mmn... I say -- if that cute German fellow no longer wants his beer, I'd be glad to finish it for him. I could use a couple in me before I begin to tell my tale, much less *think* about getting back to London."


	2. Chapter 2

Social events were always hell.

It went without saying that the pain of it multiplied by the number of people packed into a ballroom pretending to enjoy themselves. Divide that by the number of drinks he managed to put safely away before the event began. Then multiply it *again* by the number of times his toes had been tramped on by the admirers clinging near to him, trying to turn his head or gain his favour.

He usually drank only a few shots, then carried around a glass of water pretending it was vodka. One of the few entertainments of the evening was usually watching the nobility of both genders get steadily drunk. Blackmail was always a resource, and it was hard to blackmail someone if he himself hadn't been an upstanding citizen that evening.

It looked to be another of those evenings, though -- chatting with people he barely knew or cared to know, friends of his father, the family, acquaintances...

At least he was going it alone. No bungling from his men, no interferences...

Just a young woman fawning herself in front of his tuxedo clad form. Pale yellow dress, form-fitted... He could barely refrain from lifting a questioning eyebrow at her as he agreed to dance with her -- which also left him open to more of her blithering chatter, sadly, yet to refuse would have drawn questions from the other nobility and upper-crust gathered there.

She was young and brainless as well as talkative, but at least the worse Klaus could expect to suffer through the dance was having his ear chatted off. Much preferable to escorting any of the slightly older, predatory women present, who would have been inclined to let their hands run rather than their tongues.

"-Herr Eberbach!" By her light scowl, she had probably tried several times before to gain his attention, and finally earning it made her smile and blush in a manner some would have considered pretty. "I said, you're quite a wonderful dancer. So elegant and graceful!"

"Thank you," he replied automatically, as he turned her loose gently. "You, too, dance well -- very pretty, Fraulein Essen. Perhaps I will see you later in the evening?" Despite her being better than some of his choices, having no one attached to his arm or side was even better than her! "There are connections that I must speak with. A sheer pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, of course!" Though the dance was not yet finished she didn't protest when Klaus pulled her to the side of the floor and thrust her loose from his arms. Probably thought he was being gentlemanly with his stiffness, and she dropped a pert curtsy to his back as he disappeared into the crowd.

Someday, he knew, he'd marry a girl -- and it would have to be one like that, pleased by small shreds of attention and unquestioning. Dim. There was no woman that appealed to him, so he'd already been gathering a list of attributes that would make one tolerable to him. Until it was an necessary, though...

He had no plans of using that list or getting himself a bride. Such a thing would have interfered with his thieving!

Or at least, that was the reasoning he fed to himself. It was a bit harder to put off others when they inquired about his bachelor life -- at his age, and with a fine family name to propagate!

So he had to fall back on using the excuse of wanting to find true love. On not having yet found the right woman to spent the rest of his life with. It hurt to pretend to be a hopeless romantic...

Spotting one of his father's (and arguably his own) friends, he made his way over to the lower-ranking noble, who'd served under his father in the tank corp.

"Ah, Klaus Heinz!" The friend, a respectable though insipid older gentleman, spotted Klaus easily, and pulled him into the little knot of conversation that he was the centre of. "So good of you to accept my invitation, dear boy!" He clapped the tall Graf's shoulder heartily, with a grip that was still quite firm.

"It was my pleasure," Klaus said as pleasantly as he had ever said anything, tone more cordial and less stiff than it had been with the girl. "How have you been, Christoph?"

"Keeping myself occupied, as usual." He released Klaus' shoulder, but only to slide his hand down to grasp his forearm. Deceptively languid brown eyes warmed, the skin at their edges crinkling into well-formed lines with pleasure. "God knows, it's been harder and harder to do these days, with your father so long gone."

Klaus swallowed, nodded -- it wasn't hard to act bothered by his father's death, because it *had* bothered him. He just usually kept it packed away neatly in some mental lock-box. "Yes... yes, I know. Only now I do what he used to do, day in and day out. What have you been doing?" The grasp on his forearm... was acceptable. After all, Christoph was a well respected retired military man, if a bit odd in ways. Rather like his father had been.

"A bit of collecting, here and there. You can't fool me like your father -- I know you can appreciate a fine bit of art every bit as much as a tank. I've recently acquired a piece that I'm sure you'll find interesting. Can't wait to show it to you!" One last squeeze released Klaus' arm, though Christoph kept him close as he began to escort him around the intimate circle, making and renewing introductions.

Somewhere along the line Klaus was passed a cigar.

"So, what's this piece that you've acquired?" Klaus asked Christoph, fishing into his pocket for the heirloom that was his favourite lighter. Cigars were all right, and the fact that that circle was smoking told him it was acceptable later for him to open his favoured unfiltered lung-killers.

He'd barely got the cap flipped back when a lit flame was held before the tip of his cigar, just the perfect polite distance away for him to lean a little and get it caught. A man was offering the light, just as he'd done before for another guest. A young man, tallish, trim suit, confident but not expensive tastes. Probably a less wealthy cousin of one of the smaller noble houses, and as likely not owning anything worth stealing, hardly worth a second glance.

Until Klaus made the mistake of flicking his eyes to the man's face before sweeping them past -- and found himself them straight into the appalled blue of Eroica's.

"It's nothing terribly nice, an incomplete Roman marble, but the craftsmanship is- Ah!" Christoph turned, caught sight of the two men standing together. "An introduction I have forgotten. How inconsiderate of me! Klaus, may I present to you a friend, David Abernathy, from Britain. He is studying military history at the University. David, this is the son of a dear old friend of mine, Graf Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach."

Green-grey had gone almost feral with a look of being *caught*, for a split second, before it was shoved away as if it had never been there. Voice perfectly-- fucking God, no, it was a miracle that he was controlled so well, he uttered, holding a hand out, "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Abernathy. Military history? I hope you're using Christoph here as the resource that he is."

Eroica, curse him, was even faster to recover, allowing Klaus a glimpse of the impeccable and unshakeable social grace that was one of his greatest skills. The hand he offered for shaking was firm and warm, familiar in a way that made the German man's stomach cringe. "Graf Eberbach, is it? The son of Heinz? Christoph has been far more than a valuable resource for my studies. He has been a generous host, regaling my ears with fine tales of his time in the NDF. Your father figured prominently in most, and I've heard a good deal about you as well -- so much that I feel I know you already!"

Would it work? He couldn't, simply *couldn't* have his cover blown at so critical a point in the operation! Not even to give chase to a man never far from his conscious thoughts, for all that fresh news of Panzer hadn't materialised in the several months since their capture by Mischa. It was as if, after the closeness of that escape, the thief had run to ground somewhere, laying low and bidding his time. But now that Dorian knew where it was that he had run to, would he be able to convince the German to trade silence for silence?

And it really hadn't even been running to ground -- it had simply been a near-complete return to his legal persona, until things cooled enough to move again. Until something caught his interest. "Really?" Klaus looked surprised again, but it was the easy, social surprise, and he looked to Christoph again for a moment, that faint smile on his mouth still as it had been before. "So, you're hosting him, Christoph?" /Are you working with him, or is he using you for some job...?/

"Yes, of course!" The arm Christoph slid around the blonde's waist could have been described as lightly possessive, not quite jealous as he doubted there was a basis for it. Klaus had never shown any inclinations in that direction. "I've more than enough room, and am glad for attentive company when I can get it. David has been a marvellous guest, the best any host could hope for."

The almost drop-jawed look on Klaus' face said it all, genuine emotion clear at the motion Christoph had made -- oh, Christ, he was a fag, too! "C...." No, he had to take a breath off the cigar first, and blink again to make sure his eyes weren't lying to him. "Christoph, I... had no idea that you were..." Screw polite company and that other useless shit -- a man who was all but family to him was a *fag*?

"Darling, you're too kind," Dorian smiled at the compliment, unmistakably *leaning* into the arm around him, with a little shifting rub which seemed to make Christoph rather happy. "And you," he swung his gaze to Panzer, "should have known that Christoph is such a kind and generous man! How could you not, having known him all these years?"

Oh, it was tremendously good to score a few points on the astonished Panzer, though he knew that he would be paying for them dearly by the end of the night. But that didn't stop him from reaching a deliberate hand to tickle the slack jaw closed, as his sparkling eyes firmly held Klaus immobile. /Poor thing. If I didn't know you were such a brute, I could almost be sympathetic to see your innocence shattered so. No telling though how you managed to maintain it for so long!/

Klaus all but looked, once he'd shut his mouth, like he'd bitten off his own tongue. Then, Panzer-like in bluntness, he murmured quietly, "I didn't know, Christoph, that you were queer!!" It seemed no shock at all to the others in the circle, and he was starting to feel like the fool, not the two shameless perverts acting like a married straight couple in public!

No -- the 'revelation' seemed to shock no one but Panzer, though his bluntness did cause disapproval to stir conversation in the quiet left by his remark. Christoph looked vaguely uncomfortable, and was clearly working to dredge up an explanation, when Eroica spoke for him. "Haven't you heard, Darling? It's fashionable these days. Why, I'd imagine before too long *all* the gentry will be doing it."

He wanted to snap, but it wouldn't do, not after the initial stir he caused -- instead he pointedly ignored 'David' and looked bluntly at Christoph for an explanation.

For an explanation which quite obviously wasn't going to be delivered in the present, public surroundings. "David," Christoph began, looking apologetic, "why don't you be a dear and hunt up a round of drinks? I'm going to take Klaus up to the gallery to see the new marble. Meet us there?"

/Meet them.../ Oh no! If Panzer got Christoph alone, Eroica could as good as kiss his cover good-bye, the issue of faggishness notwithstanding.

"Thank you," Klaus said by way of stiff good-bye. He would be back, and he would find out what was going on with Eroica when he could get the NATO man *alone*. If he was on a mission, there was no need to foul him up, undercutting the right side of the Cold War in the process. So what if he hated the person working for the cause? "Is the gallery still where it used to be, Christoph?"

"Of course! Some of those pieces are damned heavy. Only going to go to the effort of installing them once -- no point in moving them afterwards!" A light pat to his back released 'David' to procure drinks, and Christoph began to circulate slowly, excusing himself from the party for a while.

Dorian hurried, albeit in an outwardly wandering fashion, to the bar. His own drink and Christoph's were asked for, and to make things simple Panzer -- no, Klaus Heinz von dem Eberbach -- got a Scotch as well. /And to think he even gave his middle name, that night in the truck!/ If it hadn't been for extraordinary luck, the NATO man was certain his skills would have uncovered Panzer's true identity sooner rather than later. That much his pride was certain of! But luck had delivered the man to him, just at precisely the moment when Panzer's boorishness and rashness could do his mission the most harm.

/Can't let him get Christoph alone. Have to... do something!/

Something, which began with a flash of inspiration that Panzer would have secretly admired, and ended in Dorian stashing the drinks in a side room and *running* for the kitchen.

Klaus was blessedly unaware of that -- and uncaring of what Dorian was doing. The walk to the gallery was a leisurely one, as was Christoph's habit when heading places. Out in the hallway, it was quiet, free of the social surroundings that had jostled Klaus before. He visibly relaxed, even though the subject matter... was not one tasteful to him. "Why didn't I know before now, Christoph?" he queried slowly, looking over from the corners of his eyes at the older man. Probably, he already guessed, because his father would have had a total fit had he been alive. Yet his father was very much dead.

"Is it such an important thing?" Christoph countered unhappily, the shoulders Klaus knew as still strong enough to win wrestling matches against men half his age slumping a little. "I thought... Well, we- I mean, I have always been discreet, but now that your father is gone... Despite my service record, I'm nobody important. I really haven't much of a reputation to damage, you see, and I'm tired of pretending."

"It's a bit of a shock," Klaus understated firmly, "and it would have killed father to find out. Though.... just make sure that college boy isn't out for your money. I'd hate to see you get taken through the dryers." He was clearly distressed by the news, yet... yet straining to put up a good face for the old friend of the family. Here, walking beside him, was a queer that wasn't immoral or corrupt, wasn't depraved...

It wasn't reasoning through his mind very well.

/Would have killed your father...?! Oh, my dear dear boy... You've no idea, have you?/

If anything, Christoph's shoulders fell further. To Klaus it seemed they were hunched under the tremendous guilt of hiding something of such a severe nature from his friend of so many years. "Don't- Don't worry about David. He's been a breath of fresh air in the manor, truly. Kind and generous with his attention, he's never asked for a thing, but unknowingly given me so much!" He halted abruptly, where it seemed more should have come.

"I'm serious, Christoph -- I think I've seen him somewhere... With a different name. Just... well, I shouldn't have to warn you to keep on your toes. If he makes you happy..." /Swallow your fucking tongue and God-damned spit it out, Klaus!!/ "Then enjoy it while it's there." Hard to give that sort of approval for such... such an *act*, and he was glad that Christoph halted before too many details were given. After all, the reasons of such a thing affecting status or social life... didn't apply to the retired officer. Klaus remembered vividly that Christoph had spent a while after the war dirt poor because his assets and house had been seized. He'd stayed at the Schloss for the years it had taken to fight for the freeze to be removed... /So, he's a queer. He's better than that damned NATO man./

"I intend to," Christoph assured quietly, just as 'David' burst into the room.

"Christoph!" The small tray of drinks he held was firmly *thrust* at Klaus, and he took his hands away before even testing its weight to see if the thief had a secure hold on it. "You must go to the kitchen immediately! The caterer -- oh, what is his name? The stocky one, with the moustache -- he was very discreet about it, but apparently there has been a small problem, a fire." One which a bemused Bonham had deliberately set, leaving his boeuf flambÈ on the fire for a few seconds too long. A pity to waste such a marvellous dish, but the Major had needed a distraction!

"Oh! Oh my goodness!" Dorian's ruse, combined with the believably panicked way he had delivered it, had the older man all but sprinting from the gallery. "If you'll both excuse me for a moment..."

Klaus didn't even have a chance to get in a last word before Christoph was gone. But once he was sure the man *was* gone, he carefully set aside the tray, then lunged for Dorian, grabbing the front of his shirt in a tight fist. "I don't know what the fuck you're doing here, but I want you *gone*."

For a long moment, it seemed that he'd frightened words right out of the Briton's mouth. There was no glib response, no embarrassing innuendo, not even a remark about the close proximity Klaus' clenched fist had pulled them into. Just Eroica, studying him intently with languid, amusement-tinged eyes of an *incredible* shade of blue. The best of sapphires shared that colour...

/Yes. Yes oh yes! Oh!/ Panzer veneered in the trappings of civility -- smart tuxedo, pristine gloves, hair gleaming in soft light and tucked tidily behind an ear -- produced a sudden surge of want in the NATO man, made all the better because he knew of the ferocity which lurked beneath. /But not now. Christ, what atrocious timing!/ Dorian's own gloved hands worked at the one wrinkling his shirt, cloth preventing their fingers from actually brushing, though they might as well have for the pleasant tingle the contact caused. "If you please... I need to be presentable for the remainder of the evening, and I'd rather not have to return to my room for a new shirt."

"Tell me, *NOW*, what you're doing here, before I break your nose off like a cheap statue," Klaus threatened. "I can snap your cover in half, you ass, and you know it..."

"I really think it would be in your best interests to let go of me," Eroica threatened -- *threatened!* -- as he did his little lip-wetting gesture. It was slow, warmed breath and a flicker of tongue, and then the slightly pinked lips were left glistening moist. It couldn't *possibly* have been unconscious!

It probably wasn't. Whatever laid beneath Panzer's civilised facade was getting growly, as he backed Eroica up to the wall and slammed him there -- though not so hard as to shake the paintings on the walls. "Tell me right now. You're playing with the mind of a family friend and I *will* kill you for doing that unless you've got a *DAMN* good reason for it!"

"You really think I would sleep with a man twice my age -- no matter how attractive -- without a good reason?"

"Then you'd better damn well start talking fast," Klaus growled.

Growled, anger a surge that put their bodies even more tightly together as Panzer pinned the Major to the wall, and-

Well, it was very nearly too much. Dorian gave one last strangled warning, as he began to lean a little. "Darling, if you don't put me down *immediately* I fear I will do something quite rash -- like kiss you."

That got him dropped as if he'd been a grenade clutched in that one strong hand, and Klaus back-stepped twice, though still angry. "Answer me!"

Better -- his head told him that much, for it was glad to be away from the wall and no longer being knocked into it -- but Dorian couldn't help being the tiniest bit disappointed as he straightened the front of his shirt and scowled at Panzer. "He's an Eastern sympathiser, you dolt. Friend of the family? You've just put yourself in a position you truly do not want to be in, Lord Eberbach..."

"Eastern..." Klaus frowned in that unhappy, thoughtful way the expression had happened before in Eroica's presence. "My family has never done anything for the Soviets. Christoph served under my father in the war -- they were war-friends. And if you even think to imply that my family was ever involved in such an underhanded thing!!!"

"I am implying that through association your family will be considered guilty, in the eyes of some. But I am certain you are well aware of this, Klaus." So strange to call him that, but nothing else fit the moment. 'Graf' was too cold, and 'Panzer' was completely unsuited to the situation, and to the man's other persona. "It is not my mission to either clear your name nor besmirch it -- nor is it my intent to harm your father's old lover. Christoph is simply a means to an end, albeit a far more enjoyable one than I've been forced to employ in the past."

"A means to what en---" Klaus cut himself off, grey-green eyes going painfully wide as his mind caught up with his mouth. Had that fucking NATO fruit just said what he thought he said? Defensive was the first and closest stance to take. "Listen here, you fop -- two men can be friends without being God-damned fags!! And my father *never* did such a thing!"

"Are you saying...?" It was Eroica's turn to be flabbergasted, taking a step nearer Panzer as thought furrowed his brows. "How could you not have known?! A prude virgin *and* an ignorant innocent... Honestly -- how have you managed all these years? Had your head buried up your ass?"

It wasn't fair to be caught so off-guard in his homeland by a British fag! Not fair at all, though there never really was a good time to rail about things and life being unfair. "You only said that to set me on edge, and I know it's not true," Klaus murmured, gathering together his composure as though snatching at the air, trying to fly by the strength of his arms alone. "Now tell me what you're using Christoph for."

"Not true?! You're delusional! Perhaps two men can be friends and never get the urge to fuck each other silly, but it's different for two fags, or even a fag and a man!" Another step was taken, before Dorian realised what he was doing and threw his arms up in disgust. "But, do you know what? I don't care whether you believe me or not -- another task which is not part of my mission is to ruin your precious manly image of your father. You'll do that by yourself I'd expect, piecing together heretofore innocuous hints while you lie unable to sleep in the dark. My only concern is for the Stasi who have approached Christoph, not the man himself."

"So you're baby-sitting a doddering old man with too much military knowledge?" Klaus asked, leaping viciously for the chance of a new topic. "Then I'll leave you be in your sick ways of reaching that end."

"Wait!" Relief was short-lived, that Panzer didn't seem about to expose him and ruin the operation. "There is something else. I never imagined that I would find you again, soon enough to ask..."

"Ask what?" Klaus asked. Anger lasted only so long, and beneath it was still that stunned, unsure expression, of a man still trying to muddle through information given to him.

That confusion was surely to Dorian's benefit, beyond that the softened expression it left on Panzer's face was deeply alluring... "Despite that I find your methods extreme and your temper childish, there can't be any mistaking that you're like me -- the best at what you do. I... would like to contract you for a job."

"Payment being what? A one-way trip to the ICPO prison? No, thank you, I'll have to decline your offer," Klaus murmured, turning away firmly to instead study the painting on the wall before him.

"It isn't wise to vex me, Panzer," Dorian spat the cover-name. Judging by the closeness of the words, he was approaching the German's turned back. "Doing so is a lot more likely to get yourself into an Interpol prison than assisting me. Though I could decide to turn your murdering ass over to them anyway. But I'd *much* rather put your skills to use. So, what's your answer? We'll both benefit -- your identity will remain hidden that much longer, and you'll be paid handsomely for your effort."

"What *is* this job?" Eroica was finally asked by the thief.

"Did you by any chance... assist Christoph in set up his security system? It's a bit... more than I expected, and unfortunately beyond my capabilities. And there's a safe, in his bedroom. He's been acting as a go-between for a mole in the West and their Stasi masters in the East. I'm sure that's where he's been keeping information until the handoffs can be made."

"The initial set-up, but he later had a third party come in and manage an upgrade," Klaus shrugged. "Why can't you do it? *You've* obviously spent time in his bedroom!!"

"And the bathroom, the upstairs study -- and that large leather sofa in the library is surprisingly comfortable. You should give it a try one of these days," Dorian replied smugly, falling quiet and retreating to the other side of the room quickly as he heard Christoph's returning footsteps.

Those foot-falls were the only thing that kept Klaus from lunging and killing him, the Major was sure! The atmosphere when Christoph entered was faintly strained, Klaus intently studying a picture that was fairly new since the last time he'd been in the gallery.

"Do you like that?" the older man inquired, nodding at the raucous medieval joust in-miniature Klaus was studying. "Please say that you do, because I bought it on whim, and though I know what I like, I trust your technical expertise to the ends of the world."

Dorian angled his retreat to let it carry him within reach of the older man, where he was expectedly snagged and lightly kissed on the cheek. "So, disaster averted, Christoph? The poor fellow was panicking severely. I hope it wasn't too awful."

"Just a burning bit of food," Christoph murmured, "But once I was downstairs it was hard to excuse myself all over again... Well, Klaus?"

"Oil..." was the absent reply, fingers lifting to *almost* touching the taut surface. He had an eye for it, developed through time and study. "Good technical grasp -- I'd date it post napoleonic, but not too far afterwards."

"Worth the 65,000 marks I paid for it, I hope?"

"It is if you think it is," Dorian replied before Klaus could, smiling at Christoph *fondly* and leaning to kiss him lightly on the lips. "But you're not going to believe that until you hear it from *him*, are you?" That was gently teased, all the worse for the fact that the whole routine was impossibly well-acted and sincere.

"Worth 80,000, at least -- the market for this sort is in a dip right now; you got a lucky price," Klaus murmured, turning from it at last with a slightly warmed expression than the growling he'd done at Dorian before. "It'll go up again, too. Could you, ah.... refrain a little until I'm more used to... seeing that?"

"Seeing...?" Eroica turned artless eyes on Klaus, at the same time nestling himself comfortably into Christoph's encircling arm. He'd meant what he'd told Klaus about sleeping with older men, even though the minor German noble was attractive still, in a worn, experienced sort of way. Still strong too -- he'd not let his form go as some did -- and considerate in bed. "I don't... quite understand..."

The flush that rose on Klaus' high-cheekbones wasn't faked in any way, and he looked away again. Disgust, that had to be what was making him feel hot and uneasy!! He looked to Christoph for at least understanding and the old man's familiar military dignity. "I'm not used to seeing two... people be so affectionate... let alone two men."

"Sorry," Christoph apologised, as he reluctantly turned Dorian loose from his arms. "Klaus Heinz is... Well, he's a fine, proper young man. Very upstanding in the community. Almost old fashioned, in fact... I feel a great deal of fondness for him, just as I did for his father." He gave a nod to Klaus. "So I will honour your request, even though I do consider it a bit harsh of you to be making it to me in the privacy of my own house." A fine, upstanding young man, who Christoph had taken over his knee and spanked soundly on several occasions, and he was NOT about to let Klaus forget that!

"Oh." Dorian was *smirking* at Klaus as he chewed on his bottom lip. "I see... Don't worry about it, Darling. I wouldn't want to make the Graf *uncomfortable*..." His tone said clearly 'any more than he already is'.

Klaus gave a truly grateful nod. "Thank you, Christoph. I appreciate it -- I.... just need some time to digest this, and then I won't impose any more such harsh requests."

"No trouble at all, to give you the time you need," the older man smiled, reaching to pat Klaus on the shoulder. "Now, about that Roman marble...? It's just over this way, and I'm eager to get your opinion on it!"

~~~~~

By the end of the night, and the end of the socialising, dancing with more girls, heading back to the Party That Wouldn't Die, and finally getting up to the room that was his for the next two nights, Klaus' nerves were a wreck.

Christoph, who for all purposes had been like an uncle, more tolerable than his father, was fucking, being fucked by... Ugh, he just didn't want to think about it. It set the thief's stomach on edge, as possibly did the four aspirin and the shot of whiskey that had washed them down.

Probably was fucking and being fucked right this minute, in fact, if the way he and that damned fop NATO man had left the party on each other's arms was any signal. Thankfully Christoph's room was a floor above, but not much different from Klaus' usual room where it fell on that floor, which would actually put it near directly above him.

It didn't matter -- at the first thud he heard above his head he'd shoot at the ceiling.

Well, if he could find his gun still after the six shots of whiskey that had followed the first.

It was only after the sixth shot of whiskey, aged, strong stuff, that he thought of taking off his clothes -- and half succeeded, before he simply gave up and laid back on the bed dishevelled. The ceiling was textured, little ripples that grew in size as they spanned outwards...

Gay. Eroica sincerely thought his father had been a fag, and Christoph *was* one... They'd talked about sharing a house in Switzerland, when his father retired. But he'd died first, and unquestionably altered Klaus' life by doing so. He'd had the title dropped on his head, and instead of joining the military he'd finished university, settled into his thievery and running the estate and properties. And Christoph had been deeply saddened by the loss of Klaus' father, a close friend...

/What if he's right -- what if the damned Major is right? But if that's so, then why did he teach me right from wrong so clearly, if he was *doing* wrong the entire time?!/ There was no answer for it, though -- after all, the old man was dead.

And how could you ask a dead man questions?

There was of course always the option of asking his living friend those questions, but Klaus shied from the mere thought, especially with Eroica close enough to hear the outcome, and perhaps laugh cruelly at it. Eroica, close... No -- merely thinking enraged thoughts about the fop couldn't conjure the man's sweet, flowery scent, no matter how many shots of whisky he'd downed! Which meant...

"Mind if I swing the door closed?" a velvety British voice inquired in a whisper, before doing just that. It latched softly, followed by the second sound of the lock being thrown. "Privacy is better for the sorts of things I have in mind..."

"Go 'way," Klaus growled in a thick, frustrated slur as he woozily started to sit up.

"Can't." And, true to that crisp statement, a weight settled itself at the foot of Klaus' bed. A weight which faintly radiated warmth, and smelled of roses and an underlying musky tang, not distinctly unpleasant but definitely unrecognisable. "Not until I hear from you an answer about this job! It's terribly important, and- Pa- Er... Klaus...? You've been drinking, haven't you?"

" 'll take the... the fuckin' thing," he answered hazily, pushing himself up a little more before he laid down again, deciding that his side was a perfect place to be just then. "'f cour's... 've been drink'n."

"Oh, Christ..." Just what he didn't need! A thief, a *good* one, perfect for his use if not for a few 'minor' flaws -- such as a murderous temper, and a drinking problem. Dorian was terribly unsympathetic as he drawled, "Feel better now that you're plastered? Do it often, perhaps to drown your guilt? I might as well call the deal off, if you're going to be doing this every night. You're absolutely no good to me in this condition!"

" 'n usuhally dri'k," Klaus murmured, closing his eyes tightly, and making an aborted movement to rid himself of the shirt caught half on and half off of him. "'s ben.... a lo'g day..."

/Oh no... No, Darling -- not that!/ If the shirt came off, which it probably only would with Dorian's help, there was fairly little chance that the NATO man could prevent himself from pushing things the tiniest bit farther. And what better time to push than when Panzer was so clearly drunk? He might even be able to steal himself a kiss and not immediately lose a kidney for it!

"A long day... No -- the day we spent suffering Mischa's hospitality -- THAT was a long day. This has been quite pleasant, all in all. Except..." Motion, gentle on the edge of the bed as Dorian scooted warily closer. "You know, I can't believe that I actually feel sorry for you. I shouldn't. You're about the last person on the planet deserving of pity, but if this has to do with Christoph, and your father..."

"They.... w'ren't," was the pathetic, frowned protest as he shifted again, trying to squirm himself free of the shirt's now aggravating constraints. "Fat'r alw'ys stress't th't bei'n fag 's bad..."

It was too pathetic for Dorian not to help him. Cool, gentle fingers stilled his struggles, and slowly eased the tangled shirt off of one of Panzer's arms. The thief could damned well get the rest of it off himself, as if Dorian continued to help he wouldn't stop at the shirt!

It helped, only a little, that as he helped he talked, keeping a light, conversational tone. "Maybe it's bad for nobility, someone in your father's position, and yours, with a history and a name to continue. But Christoph isn't hurting anyone, and neither am I, to give each other company and pleasure. I can't see bad in that."

" 's wr'ng. 'N 'gainst the chur'h. 'n... 's wrong," Klaus mumbled, jerking the other arm free without Dorian's help, then twisting to lay on his back, though his legs were still bent and curled comfortably.

"So is thieving, but that doesn't stop you. At least being homosexual hurts no one."

" 'n father... wou't nev'r... do tha'. 's gross," Klaus went on, having barely -- selectively? -- heard what Dorian said. After all, what reply was there for it? The Major was right!

Gross?! The Major rolled his eyes, letting a deep sigh escape his lips. There was simply no reasoning with a drunk, stubborn German! "Look, I don't want to be involved in any of your ridiculous denial. It's really none of my business what you think of your dead father, or what uncomfortable issues I've inadvertently stirred up. But..."

/But but but./

Damn it -- it *wasn't* his business, but being constantly called 'disgusting' and 'perverted' and 'gross' grated on the nerves! "It isn't gross." Very deliberately, a cool hand was settled on Klaus' bare chest. "You probably say the same of *all* sex, you prude."

" 'm n't a prude," Protest even as he opened his eyes in a bit of startlement at the touch. "Why're y' doin' tha'?" Sex... well, it was all unthinkable to him, male or female, dog, thing, whatever... It was bad, and he found other ways to channel off that thought-clouding energy.

/I'm doing it because your very lovely self is completely within my grasp, for the first time and for perhaps the *only* time, and it's an opportunity I won't waste!/

Dorian wasn't about to say such a thing aloud though, for fear of frightening the man. Instead the hand lessened its pressure a little, hovering with the barest touch to skin, and began to float in a lazy circle. "No reason. I'll stop when you take back the 'gross' remark."

Or when Dorian's control collapsed and he pounced the delectable, horrible man!

" 's all gross," Klaus told him in a strangely *smiled* expression, sleepiness setting in from his drinks. "I... run t' not want it. 's... strang, like th's..."

"You don't know what it's like, strange, gross or otherwise, not having tried it. Such a pity, too... A beautiful man like you could have anyone he wanted in his bed, just by issuing the invitation with a glance." /You could have me now, in fact. I'm still slick, from having been taken by Christoph, and your mouth is probably hot and tasting of your drink and cigarettes./ The sweeping hand caught a nipple, causing the Major to pull in a soft breath when he found it raised and hard, just right for suckling. /Stop, oh stop! Dorian Red Gloria, don't you *dare* ruin this contract and blow your cover by letting your libido get the better of you!/

"Uh-uh," Klaus protested hazily, arching up to try to dislodge that hand. It felt funny, that touch, felt painful -- that was it! It was strangely painful, the emotion it struck up in the pit of his stomach. "St'p, you f'king fahg."

An arch was an arch, and the thief earned more contact for it, rather than ridding himself of Eroica's hand. And if Dorian chose to purposefully mistake the response as a positive one, he felt perfectly justified in doing so. In his experience, no one arched into a touch they were trying actively to evade!

"I'll stop, just as soon as you take back what you said. Say that I'm not disgusting, that Christoph isn't." /And your father.../

"You... *are*," Klaus spat, shifting now to sit up a little, roughly batting off Dorian's hand.

"Say it," Dorian threatened, clamping a hand to Panzer's shoulder and forcing him to recline back. "Don't make me kiss you to prove a point."

"Won' take 't back!" Klaus protested. "It'd be... be gros' 'f you were a girl."

"Fucking prude fucking Germans..." the blonde muttered darkly, as his face leaned ominously close. "If you weren't so fucking handsome, it wouldn't be the crime it is! But your body, Panzer Darling, is *built* for pleasure. Probably screams for it, too, when you accidentally touch yourself in the shower, or slip between your sheets naked... And what do you fucking do about it?! You run. What a fucking waste..."

If his attempt had been to unsettle Klaus by repeated use of that word, drawled softly where the thief used it explosively and with little thought to its meaning, Dorian failed. Luckily, that hadn't been his intent at all. Distraction had been, and just as Panzer's lips parted to deliver another protest Eroica's settled over them possessively.

Liquor, at least with the Major anywhere near him, was something Panzer would cognisantly swear off the very next morning. He would never touch another drop of the stuff, he'd decide, when Eroica was in the same country as he was.

But for the moment, there was no painful thought, only innocent startlement from a man who'd backed a truck over a Soviet just for the fun of it. Painful contrast for Dorian to think on later -- but for the moment he could taste powerful cigarettes and whiskey, soft lips parting in shock.

/Glorious!/ Smoky and heated, just slack enough that Dorian could leisurely meld his mouth to Panzer's in those stunned moments. While it lasted he would take what he could, give a little pleasure in return, and hopefully prove a point. /Oh, so far from disgusting! You know it too, Darling. Even valiantly trying to make your lips firm into their hard line, they resist, still obedient to mine./

Panzer even kissed back a little, before he dropped his head back onto the pillow, looking up at Dorian's still too close to focus on expression. His mouth felt strangely invaded, still, even without those lips against his... Unfamiliar in so many way, and a little chilled in the aftermath. Certainly, though, he was still stunned speechless.

Dorian's expression had resolved from pleasure to disappointment by the time he'd withdrawn far enough to make focusing on it a possibility. "Damned cold fish," he could be heard to mutter softly, as he tried uselessly to convince himself that the fiery German man was just that. /Might as well be, for the little he responded. Probably would have got more passion from a carp./

"N'ver... done 's before," the German man muttered in a quiet slurring tone, closing his eyes almost repletely. " 's funny."

"How do you expect to be any good at it if you never practice?" the blonde snapped quietly, aware that though Panzer's room was on a different hall from most of the guests' that it would still be possible to draw unwanted attention if he spoke too loudly.

Liquor clouded grey green eyes slitted open -- and the rough voice growled an order of, "Do 't a-gain."

"What -- so that I can be certain that you *are* the terrified virgin that you play at?" He was already mostly certain anyway, and hadn't that been all he'd wanted to learn? The Major frowned, his eyes hazed over with thought.

Then, distinctly, a challenge. "No. If you want another damned kiss, take one."

They were already close together... Very, very close, and if asked in the morning, the thief would claim that Dorian had moved -- that he hadn't meant to do it and that the pervert was hallucinating. But for the moment, without anything cognisant in the way, Klaus leaned up that tiny bit and pressed a kiss to the Major's lips. This time it lasted longer, and Klaus moved a little more, awkwardly, trying to learn what was best in the strange flurry of sensations.

Instinct kicked in -- having got away without a knife in the gut the first time, Dorian was feeling remarkably relaxed and careless -- and the kiss that ended, slowly and mutually, was markedly better than its clumsy beginning. Dorian was, after all, an excellent instructor. /Ohh... Oh my. Oh *fuck* what *am* I *doing*?!/

Aside from kissing a beautiful, handsome, feral man who'd all but choked him over a request to keep him warm during their shared night in the back of the Soviet truck. A beautiful, regal thief who was also a ruthless killer and had a temper that set off like pre-warmed kindling. A beautiful, muscular, strong man who might very well break his jaw, neck, legs, back, and arms the next morning, after the hang-over from too much whiskey.

The drunken thief, though, for the moment lifted a hand to Dorian' hair, touching gently, fascinatedly, before leaning up to take yet another kiss.

"D-Darling! Are y-you *sure* that you're... not...?" the Briton had to ask, after that and a fourth, more intricate kiss had concluded. More smoky taste, warmth and the scrape of tongues, and if it hadn't been possible to get drunk off the thief's whisky-soaked mouth and lips, then Dorian had no explanation for his sudden muzzy-headed condition.

"N't?" was the fuzzy question he got in return, Klaus having barely pulled back far enough to focus on Dorian's face. The more he did it with Dorian, kissing, the more... more enjoyable it seemed!

"Aren't..." A thumb absently traced the thief's lips, miraculously soft still! "Aren't... at least a l-little... attracted to me? Oh, I don't *dare* say that other thing, because I need you for the mission! You're already going to be angry enough as it is, come morning, and I *am* a bit narcissistic and *really* not fond of pain, and taking those facts into consideration it would be best... if... you would release my hair so that I can leave before I do something *truly* stupid," the blonde man finished quietly.

"Hmn." That rambling speech lost Klaus somewhere along the line, but he did let his hand slip slowly, so very slowly, from grasping Dorian's hair. "Hmnm, felt good, tho'."

"Yes," Dorian had to agree, simply, as he tucked covers around the half-dressed thief -- covers being a fairly decent deterrent against some of his more lustful urges. "It did. Very very good. I should like to do it with you again some time, when... you can face me sober and tell me the same thing."

The hazed expression frowned at him for a long moment, and then the drunk man seemed to shrug off the rebuke. "You start'd it."

"I did. But it takes two to participate, and I'm certain that that was your tongue in my mouth, just a moment ago." Though it was absolute agony to do so, the last kiss Dorian gave the inebriated thief was a chaste thing, not even square on his lips.

And then, before he could do anything else to put him any higher up on Panzer's shit-list, he left the room, closing the door lightly behind him.

~~~~

If Klaus looked strained and tired around the edges of his eyes, the hard-line that was his mouth dropping as he glanced listlessly over the menu...

Well, Dorian knew why. Dorian had also chosen the quaint place where they were eating breakfast -- he, Christoph and Klaus. Other guests were going to the city, some going home, others sleeping very very late.

It was safest that way, wasn't it? Panzer had a meticulously kept-up public image to worry about, and breakfast in a public place was less likely to include threats, coarse language and violence. The violence in particular Dorian was very keen to avoid! So when Christoph had suggested an intimate little breakfast, Dorian had countered by offering to drive them all to the cafe where he'd first tried to attract the notice of the older man.

It hadn't taken long -- not many days past his setting up a regular residence at the corner table, books and other academic paraphernalia spread around him, learning the habits of the regulars as he pretended to study. And as an added benefit the cafe served very good coffee, and delicate little tea-cakes that were very nearly better than sex.

Klaus was on his second cup of coffee when he decided to actually order food. He looked a bit ill, tired more like, and was far more quiet than the night before -- as if the gears of his mind were working too furiously for him to be able to speak.

It was maddening to have to ignore him in favour of fawning over Christoph, like petting a friendly dog while ignoring the wolf growling ominously just behind you. But what else was Dorian to do but keep his cover tight, ordering a large breakfast and cheerfully talking all the way through it, and dreading the time he might catch Panzer alone and learn the extent of the damage done the previous night.

"Klaus Heinz? Is there something the matter?" Christoph inquired, taking advantage of the silence during one of Dorian's pauses for food. There certainly seemed to be! And outside of the little revelation of the previous night, which really shouldn't have been a revelation to *anyone*, Christoph had no explanation for what might be causing his tired, quiet state.

Klaus' head snapped up, coffee cup in one hand, and a half-smoked cigarette in the other. "I... didn't sleep very well last night -- and I'm thinking. Sorry that I'm not the best of company this morning..." Hopefully Christoph wouldn't press it, though that was unlikely -- but it he was lucky at all, the older man would attribute it to *anything* at all other than the sharp reality.

That he'd got drunk the night before, and that he'd kissed, been kissed by-- /No, don't even think it. It never happened./

"I assure you, he's usually fine company, much better than this!" Christoph told a smiling Dorian, as he shook his head bemusedly. "Fine company, just like his father. And the room he has, next to yours, is the one he's been staying at since he was a boy not taller than my waist! Never had any trouble sleeping there before..."

Dorian nodded, also pretending to be puzzled. "Could have been... something he ate?" Meanwhile, he was stewing in his own private hell. Surely at *any* moment Panzer was going to expose him, or bellow at him, throw a punch, try to stick him in the belly with a fork... And worse, the *exact* time when all his instincts were screaming at him to flaunt the small victory of the kisses was precisely the time he could do no such thing! Quite the opposite -- it was incredibly difficult to keep his voluminous conversation free of any remarks which could be taken the least bit wrong.

"No, I am simply... thinking," was the truthful, painfully so, answer. "About many things. Perhaps I shouldn't bother with such thoughts, because they do me little good." He could kill guards, he could kill Soviets, yet... yet to kill a NATO man was to sign his own death warrant!

"Perhaps it is best to not be thoughtful so early in the morning," Dorian offered helpfully. "Dreams and the left-over excitement of the previous night's party are no doubt the ingredients for your simmering thoughts. I'm certain they will seem trivial, given a few hours of clear-headedness."

"Perhaps," was the almost morose musing, as he took a long drag of the cigarette, then chased it down with a sip of coffee. /Distraction, distraction..../ "Christoph, how old was father when he married?"

"Your father -- married...?" Clearly that was not the most pleasant of topics to the older man, judging by the way it brought out deeply the fine lines around his eyes. But then, it never had been to his father either, and most of what Klaus knew of his long-dead mother had been learned from other people. "It was... several years after the war. Three, I think. I was... twenty-four when I stood as his best man, which would have made him twenty-six." Not so old, especially considering the interruption caused by the war, but also not so young for a Graf with a family name to continue!

Dorian very quietly set down his fork and put his chin in his hand, raptly listening to anything and everything that had to do with Panzer. He certainly wasn't about to get the thief to talk about himself!

"I'm four years over that, now... " Murmured almost absently, as he took another sip of the coffee, that drained off the cup. "There was a... lovely young woman at the party, but..."

"But...?" Christoph prodded, as he was accustomed to having to do when there was some problem eating at Klaus.

Dorian but the inside of his lip and willed himself to be silent, still, invisible.

"None of them ever seem *right*." That was true, and Klaus was glad of some of his... more uncomfortable reputations, glad that he was underestimated in his coldness.

His father's friend reached across the table and set a weathered hand atop Klaus'. "Klaus Heinz... Why is this bothering you suddenly? There is an entire world of possibilities -- surely among them you can find someone who is. Perhaps if you didn't take your duties so seriously, if you would attend more social functions instead of keeping yourself sequestered in that great Schloss..."

"It wouldn't matter -- all I'd meet then is more of the same. Girls with too much make-up and brains they could fit in their small purses," Klaus murmured, straining to not shrug off the hand, though hiding that well. His eyes showed a bit of stress, though, and it matched neatly to his words.

"I still don't understand," Christoph was shaking his head slowly. "This is nothing new. You've never shown more than passing courtesy to any of the young women I've introduced you to, and never before have you been bothered by that fact. Why are you now?"

Dorian knew, and it was very nearly killing him to keep quiet and not share his own conclusions on the matter.

A moment of quiet from Klaus, during which he snubbed out his cigarette on the saucer of his coffee cup, and carefully lit a new one. Then he made a simple gesture of his head between Dorian and Christoph.

The gesture brought Dorian's surprised gaze to Klaus' face, where he couldn't seem to pry it free again, while Christoph delicately cleared his throat and turned a light shade of pink. "My dear boy..." The hand resting atop Klaus' squeezed gently, the same strength-in-reserve feel he'd got the few times he'd held his father's hand when he was very young. "It is different -- very different, I think, from what you desire. I merely wished for company, someone to fill my days with a little cheer, my nights with a little warmth."

"I... guessed as much," Klaus murmured, and the fact that he hadn't protested any gestures that passed between Christoph and Dorian that morning said as much to the older man. "It is, though.... very lonely at the Schloss. Perhaps that is why I'm thinking such things."

/I could come to visit you./ The sentiment was so strong that for a moment Dorian was fearful that he had spoken aloud. And with it came the foolish desire pet Panzer's hand the same as Christoph was, to offer sympathy and comfort for the uncomfortable musings he himself had certainly sparked. /We could talk, argue, slowly discover each other. I want to kiss you again, with your hard, clear eyes on me, and have approval in them when I do it./

"I suppose I should put such things to rest, and let fate fall where it will," Klaus sighed, looking away to signal for the waiter and another cup of coffee.

/Fate has already moved, you blind, stubborn-!/ Dorian wanted to yank the small bouquet of flowers decorating the table out of its vase and bash Panzer over the head. /Me! I'm far from unattractive -- admit it! I have a good brain in my head, and I'm excellent company. A liason couldn't possibly hurt!/

"Don't despair," was Christoph's sage advice, as he raised his own cup for a refill. "In my years, I've been close a few times. Never does any good -- patience I've found serves much better."

"I suppose," Klaus mused, taking a sip of the burning hot stuff right away -- as if trying to sterilise his mouth, perhaps, from the flavour of Dorian's kisses? "What are we doing today, Christoph...? Any plans at all...?"

It was clearly a relief to the older man to have the conversation turn to easier things. "Ah, I'm afraid so." That answer was for Dorian and Klaus both, as he reached for the Briton's hand now, squeezing it apologetically. "My duties as host prevent me from spending as much time with you as I'd like. And you, Klaus Heinz -- I would never *think* to keep you from away from the leisure of the shooting range! In anticipation of your visit I've even stocked some boxes of those horrible little clays that you like so, that no one else can hit. David has an interest of firearms, so you can take him along for company in my stead."

/Shooting... range?/ It was a blessing that Dorian's coffee was so hot. The choking mouth-full he managed to dribble down his shirt could be blamed on that heat, and a scalded tongue.

That drew a real smile from Klaus, sly and decidedly pleased with the idea. "That sounds wonderful, Christoph -- perhaps David is good, hmn? I'm glad you did stock those, because as much as I enjoy looking at art, shooting is quite the pleasure." Though as Dorian already knew -- going on a shooting range with Panzer was a risk to his life!

"Oh no!" 'David' squeaked in protest, dabbing with his napkin at the coffee staining his otherwise pristine (silk, no doubt) shirt. "It was your collection of medieval weapons that I was admiring, Christoph. I'm really no good with a proper gun. Klaus will find me a very poor, dull opponent, I'm afraid."

"Oh, then at least come along so I can teach you some things?" Klaus asked, pleasantly enough, his tired mood seeming to rise up for the first time all morning. /Teach you a lesson or two, you God-damned fop.../

There was a moment of contemplative silence from the blonde, who then stopped dabbing and returned the napkin to his lap, looking far more composed than any man has right to look when faced with the prospect of heading into the woods with an angry Panzer and a loaded shotgun. "If you insist," he answered, primly, that light British accent maddening. "However, you must allow me to return the favour some time. Surely there is some... activity in which you are lacking experience, that I might instruct you in."

Eroica never left a job half-finished. If Panzer was already angry, he might as well drive him to fury. With luck, his aim would degenerate as his temper rose.

"If you can think of something," Klaus challenged carelessly, smiling still. It was... almost, *almost* frightening for Dorian; Christoph failed to consider it so because Klaus had smiled that same smile since he'd been a little boy. And Klaus' father, too, had held a hint of that expression... "If you can hold a gun, I can teach you how to fire it properly. I've managed to do so with a few of the retainers at the Schloss." Meaning that band of men who worked for him.

Thus it was a familiar smile, recalled by Christoph with no small bit of fondness. It was also an anticipative smile, an ordinary one for a day at the shooting range to evoke. Klaus Heinz did *so* enjoy shooting... "The weapon your father favoured is in the gun room, right where you left it the last time," he told Klaus with a smile. "And for David I think something a little lighter, perhaps the one with the blonde oak stock?" A fine, elegant gun, and his hair nearly matched the colour of the glossy wood.

Klaus seemed to follow that same train of thought, because the edge of one lip twitched down into a part-frown. "Yes, that would suit him." /Suit him better if I could rig it to... No, I can't kill him./

"Well, that's settled then." Dorian challenged Panzer with a fearless glare, quickly given while Christoph had his nose buried in his coffee cup draining the last few swallows. He would not -- would *not* be cowed! In fact... the familiar prickle at the base of his skull was excitement, overpowering fear and sense, just the sort he lived for.

"Shall we go?" Klaus invited, sitting up a little to pull his wallet free to get the tab, giving a snap to get the attention of the waiter.

It seemed consent was unanimous. There was the requisite scuffle over the tab, which Dorian won by merit of having been first to get his hands on the little slip of paper, and then not letting it out of his grasp.

Klaus conceded gracefully -- after all, he'd had only coffee and a small plate of eggs, both very inexpensive compared to what Dorian and Christoph had eaten. So Christoph squabbled with Dorian over the tab for a bit, and Klaus watched... while trying to not watch, clearly. Christoph, a Soviet sympathiser? *Why*, he wanted to know, though there was no clear way to get an answer.

No way to ask the man delicately, and just as unthinkable to ask as it would have been to inquire directly if Christoph had indeed been his father's lover. Which left Eroica, whom he might or might not be able to wrestle answers from later on the shooting range. Or, as a last resort, he could probably threaten for the answers he craved...

After all, *he* knew how to aim a shotgun, and Dorian didn't!

When the bill had been taken care of, Klaus rose to his feet, stretching just a little. His clothes were much like he'd worn that day he and Eroica had been captured -- sleek, crisp trousers, a neatly pressed button down shirt. No gun holstered, not that Dorian could see, though it was assured that he had one, maybe more, on him.

The languid motion was enough to draw Eroica's eyes and hold them, the little smile playing about his lips saying that he remembered very well how Panzer had looked in that same outfit, minus his shirt. "Well, are you coming?" he inquired of the dark German, as he linked an arm with Christoph and drew the older man for the exit, and into idle conversation.

~~~~~

The trip back hadn't been so bad, nor had Christoph's efficient break-away to see to his other duties. Leaving Klaus to take Dorian to the gun-room.

"How long have you been here...?" Klaus asked as they walked towards the room.

Dorian, following reluctantly down an unfamiliar side-hall, growled, "Just like that? Not a word about last night, or tonight for that matter... Just playing the sociable fellow guest, inquiring about my stay. I really do not believe you!"

"You really are a stupid fuck, aren't you?" Klaus asked, not even bothering to look at Dorian as they walked. "Fucking Christoph must have addled your brains -- the walls, as you stupid Limeys say, have fucking ears. So answer my God-damned question, and we'll get the fucking guns."

If he had been looking, he would have seen Eroica's mouth curl into a sensual grin. "Much better, Darling. I was beginning to fear that you'd gone civilised on me."

"I can 'go' in whatever direction I choose to go," Klaus growled, ducking into a room that he opened without warning. A quickly flipped light-switch, though, revealed it to be the gun-room.

"Oh...?" Eroica followed, easing the door closed behind him, as if he was quite accustomed to slipping into unfamiliar rooms -- and the privacy they provided -- with strange men. "Then, I suppose leading you is simply a matter of convincing you that you want to go where I want you to."

"Bring up last night again, try for a repeat of it, Eroica, and I'll kill you," Klaus drawled -- it wasn't the angry, *loud* menace that he'd heard from the man before, but a more serious, back-handed anger, quiet and better controlled than most of his fury. "I'll go along with your mission to protect my family name, and to get Christoph out of this shit. But I'm not doing it for any other reason."

"I agree wholeheartedly," Dorian answered, leaning back against the door. Arms crossed, and that loose, ready smile still teasing at his lips, he didn't seem to be taking the death threat at all seriously. "The mission must come first. Otherwise I would have ended the agony of wanting you last night. You'll be guarding yourself carefully now, and I'll probably not get another chance..."

"You're a slut," Klaus uttered, shaking his head as he retrieved the guns and the bullets for each. "Last night wasn't a chance. It was a mistake."

"Your mistake perhaps, for letting your control slip." The Major fluffed his hair absently, pulling the golden filaments between thoughtful fingers much the same way the drunken Panzer had. "I can't decide if you're more jealous of my sexual freedom, you repressed sod, or of Christoph, because he has me to look forward to in his bed every night."

Hard to answer that, when blind fury had the best answer possible in what he grasped in his hands -- guns and bullets! One gun, with the blond barrel, was shoved towards Dorian. "It's none of your business."

The gun, a solid, heavy weight, was deposited into his hands. It was elegant -- Christoph knew his tastes well by now -- and Dorian could appreciate it for its sleekness, for the gleam of well-tended wood and steel. It would be more difficult to appreciate once it was loaded and dangerous, but this particular weapon had never been trained on a person. That, he found, made a difference. "No, I suppose not. A pity, but certainly none of my business."

"It's not a pity," Klaus countered as he led the way out of the room again. What was worse, perhaps about that night, was that he could only remember actions. Nothing of what he'd said, just the motions, kissing Dorian over and over... yet not even an inkling of the words that had left his lips. He might have told Eroica a thousand things that he didn't want to think about...

Dorian followed demurely, the necessary half-step behind which allowed Panzer to choose their path, and, incidentally, for the Major to steal an occasional glance to the German man's lovely ass... /He hasn't killed me yet. That's a good sign, isn't it? Of course, he could simply be waiting until we reach the range. Shooting accidents *do* happen,/ he reminded himself.

"The pity..." mumbled softly, Dorian's thought was quickly internalised. /The pity is that you were starting to respond, last night. The potential is there.../

Circumstance simply hadn't given him the freedom to reach it.

"Is what?" Klaus asked him, leading far out past the gardens of the large house, towards the shooting area. He snagged a gardener, and asked about the box of clays, for them to be loaded.

"Is... only going to make you angry, as it connects yourself and sex in the same train of thought. Forget I said anything." The further from the house they travelled, along the neatly-kept, wooded path, the more free Dorian felt he could be with his words. If he and Panzer were under any surveillance, it would be by his own men.

Not by Panzer's -- the man, working under his persona of the Graf von dem Eberbach, needed no men to watch him or watch out. Because no one linked the two together, until now. But Eroica's men, upon seeing Panzer, would probably panic.

"I'd like to," Klaus scoffed at him, as they strode into the empty field, "but I can't. I don't like to leave things dangling."

The Major kept walking after Panzer halted, slowing and finally stopping perhaps a dozen paces farther into the field. He spun once, slowly taking in the scenery but also scanning for anything out of the ordinary, such as light glinting off metal or lenses. Of course such a cursory search turned up nothing, but it settled his mind a little. Still turned away, he called back, "Neither do I, Darling. But it's your fault, not mine, that there is a connection between us. If you want to be rid of me so badly, and thoughts of me, you should return my painting."

"Your painting?" Klaus laughed quietly at that, stopping to load his gun. "No, I won't return it. I'm going to keep it until I can find a way to get my gun back."

"Fine," Dorian shrugged, "Keep Cousin Benny. Just mind you don't practice kissing on him. I'm fairly certain that saliva isn't good for oil paintings, though you would know more about that than I..." He added with a smirked snort, "I might just decide to keep your gun, anyway -- when I get it back from Mischa."

"Unless I get it first. And I don't see why you say that I'd practice such a... thing..." The shotgun was locked ominously as Panzer looked at him.

"Because if you don't, you'll embarrass yourself on your wedding night," Eroica told him, easily meeting those flat grey-green eyes.

For a moment they sparked, like struck flint, before dulling cold again. "No, I won't. There won't be a wedding night to embarrass myself on, you pervert." A short pause, and he lifted his shot-gun smoothly, still looking at Eroica. "PULL!!!" The sharp bellow brought two clays skidding across the sky at a medium height, and still looking at Eroica, Panzer shot them to bits.

It was hard to not be impressed.

Or rather, it was hard to maintain an outward appearance that was serene and unruffled, when the man Dorian had just spent the morning antagonising had blown two clay targets out of the sky with two precise, careless shots. "You must practice blindfolded," the Major accused, pursing his lips.

"And in the dark," Klaus said agreeably. "You, a spy, must practice with handicaps as well in preparation for any inevitable harm that could befall you."

"I haven't yet been in a life or death situation that shooting little clay discs would have safely got me out of."

"Little clay disks are hard to hit. So are people when running, cars, motorcycles... but you've probably already mastered how to fuck in the dark," Klaus murmured in a darkly amused tone. "Eroica - the slut spy. And you can't shoot, either -- you must have given head to your military instructor to pass you through that course."

"And shooting Christoph would solve the problem of the Stasi? Don't be an ass," Eroica drawled, setting his gun down and himself along with it, to recline in the shade of a nearby tree. Let Panzer stand there like a fool and brutalise harmless bits of pottery -- it was too fine a day to not spend at least a little time appreciating it. "If I can use my body -- my mind, wiles, grace and wit -- to solve the problems thrown against me, *without* harm to myself or anyone else, I'm far, far ahead of you in the game. No imagination except for violence, you fucking sadist..."

"Perhaps I am. So what? Your genteel pursuit of your goals makes you no better a human than a skilled killer like myself. I kill, you fuck. Both are frowned upon by polite society. Eh, *Lord* Gloria?" He replaced the empty casings with two fresh shells, locked the shot-gun closed again.

"Which would make us more alike than is comfortable for you, Herr Eberbach. Isn't that right...?" It was clear suddenly that he wasn't going to be harmed. Not even for the travesty of a few stolen kisses. Panzer might bluster and threaten some more, but it was pointless, all of it, if Dorian already knew the end to the game. He might as well let his eyes close, resting a little in what could only be called the strangest companionable interlude he'd had since... well, since a night spent in a Soviet truck.

"Perhaps," Klaus shrugged before shouting 'PULL' again, and cleanly performing another feat of shooting skill. Somehow, though, it wasn't as enjoyable -- knowing Eroica was there. Best to do such a thing while alone, or in the company of someone who really would enjoy doing it. So once he emptied the casings again, he shouted to the gardener he'd snagged, "That's enough!! I'll come get you if I want more!!"

Dorian barely cracked an eye as Panzer joined him beneath the tree's shade -- well away from the reach. "Not in the mood for destruction?" he questioned. "Is that the excuse you'll give for sparing my neck, after I tarnished your honour last night?"

"I'm in the mood for cleaning this gun before it misfires," Klaus excused, resting his back against the tree's sturdy trunk. "As for last night... I was drunk. It was my stupidity for letting such a thing occur. You're naturally a fag. Fags do faggot-y things"

"Then, I suppose my sleeping with Christoph it excused under the premise that I can't go against my own nature." The Major's fine, long-fingered hand threaded itself in the coarse ground-cover, stroking absently. "So tell me, Klaus. What is the nature of a man raised by fags? Is it to thrust his tongue into other men's mouths the very first time his iron control slips?"

The hand that was twisting at the rifle slipped, for just a moment. "Stop saying that. There's no proof of such a thing because my father was *not* a damned queer! Why do you keep saying that, other than to raise my hackles?"

"Exercising my new-found impunity...?" It was presented as a question because Dorian was certain that Panzer wouldn't accept it as his answer. "Really, it is because I stupidly hoped that it might... change something. I don't know. Christoph *was* in love with your father, still is to some extent. That is clear as glass to read, for anyone with half a mind and a grain of sensitivity. Considering some of the things he's said about Heinz, I just assumed that... it was mutual."

"Thinks like what?" Klaus asked, pulling a polishing cloth from his pocket.

"Little things. Private." Dorian shrugged, pulling up a bit of grass to rub it between his fingers. The broken stalk released a green tang. A more pleasant scent, he decided, than the machine oil Klaus insisted on reeking of. "Now and then he slips, speaking about him as if he were still alive. It-"

The grass was scattered, Eroica's hand releasing it to a slight breeze as he shook his head unhappily. "I feel uncomfortable in those moments, a third person intruding on something private."

"Something can actually unsettle you?" Klaus asked, laughing faintly, though the sound wasn't well at ease. "Moments like what? How does he slip?"

" 's private," the Briton repeated, more forcefully. "If you want to ask him about it, then ask. Seems that's how you've learned most of what you know about your father anyway."

"I was sent to school young -- I came back when I got a call that he'd died," Klaus murmured with a bare shrug -- one that was either just plain cold, or defensive and stand-offish, which was far more likely. "Perhaps I will ask."

"You're lucky. I only *wish* that mine was dead."

"Why? You don't seem the sort to wish someone death," Panzer joked mercilessly.

"I'll introduce you to my father sometime," Eroica threatened, "so that you can join me in wishing him ill. "I'm sure he'll find something about you to be critical of, especially if he thinks you're an intimate of mine. A million times worse if he thinks you're my lover."

"Apparently him being that way hasn't deterred you from anything," Klaus pointed out, setting the shot-gun aside to shift his hips a little, unbuckling his belt.

At that small motion Eroica's eyes grew suddenly wide and transfixed. "What are you-?!"

Klaus didn't pause at all, unzipping his pants smoothly, part way, and then he reached *in*, almost ominously, only to fidget around for a moment!! What the *hell* was he doing, Eroica had to wonder...

Until the man pulled a pistol from the holster on the inside of his leg, and zipped himself back up.

"My God!" the stunned Briton exploded, when he could no longer hold back his amazement. "For a prude, you have absolutely *no* sense of modesty!" And wasn't it a good thing that he hadn't undressed the drunken Panzer?! Who knew how many *other* weapons were stashed under his clothing. One could have accidentally gone off!

"It's just a gun," Klaus scoffed, unloading the clip, and the bullet he had in the barrel to prevent it from firing as he cleaned. "*I* have no sense of modesty? This coming from someone who fucks for missions? I'm not really surprised your father doesn't approve..."

"But you just-! You..." Just opened *wide* his pants in Dorian's presence, so that the NATO man had got a fairly good eyeful of shiver-inducing tight grey underpants. Tight *tight* underpants, filled out just to his liking with the soft curve of the man's cock, hidden behind only a thin layer of cloth... "Oh God..." the blonde muttered again, suddenly squirming in discomfort. "That was just cruel."

Klaus was busily polishing his gun, though. Polishing his gun... Dorian had to wonder how subconsciously Freudian Klaus was!! Murder and shooting could very well have been sexually arousing for him... but if that were true, such precise shots as he'd taken at those clays would have aroused him a little. But no, it hadn't -- his cock, from what Dorian had seem, was limp, but still filling out his briefs nicely.

All the more reason to hate the man's prudishness.

"What was cruel?"

"You- You sadistic COCK TEASE!" the blonde shrieked, leaning to give Panzer a hard shove. "I can't fucking *believe* that you would do that, and then play at innocence!"

"Do what? I just grabbed my fucking gun!" Klaus startled, almost *dropping* said weapon, but he was glad that he'd emptied it of bullets. "You shouldn't have been looking!"

"You said it yourself," sniffed Dorian, stalking to his feet. A difficult feat to accomplish, with already tight leather pants made unbearable by the sudden presence of a raging erection. "Faggish nature. I can no more help looking, and being aroused by the sight, than you can for being offended that I would look."

"Then you shouldn't bitch about what you're looking at," Klaus growled, returning his attention to his weapon and its careful cleaning.

Oh, it was time to extract a painful revenge, hopefully making the thief every bit as uncomfortable as Dorian was! The Major crossed his arms, glaring mischief down on Klaus. "I wasn't bitching. Far from it -- I was expressing vast disappointment that that marvellous cock of yours be languishing weak and listless in those *lovely* underpants, when I would be more than happy to lavish attention on it! What do you say -- hm...?" He dropped his voice to a rough purr, one that skittered not unpleasantly up the German man's spine. And worse, he dropped to his knees smoothly before Klaus, slowly edging out a hand. "Why don't you let me finish last night's instruction? If anyone sees, you can say that I was helping you to reach another gun."

Discomfort being the goal, Dorian scored firmly. It started subtly enough, the hand holding the pistol giving a sharp tremor of the sort Dorian's hands gave when grasping such a weapon when loaded. The muzzle dipped, and Klaus quickly grasped it with both hands to steadily set it on the grass. "Leave me alone."

Eroica's hand landed, very lightly resting on one of Panzer's knees. "Stop insulting me, then," he countered, words that should have been sharp delivered in a purr. "It is a game you can't win against me. You make me angry with your ignorant, cruel remarks -- it's true. But not much, or for long. I've been hearing worse all my life, from people who mean a great deal more to me than *you*." His father for one, the elder Gloria. "And I can shake your nerves apart with a few choice suggestions."

The muscles around the knee where he laid his hand were shaking with tension -- more proof, that Eroica didn't need, that he unsettled Panzer so much, so seemingly easily. Yet grey-green eyes hide most of that unease, though rich, rough voice didn't reach the same aloofness. "That seems... a double standard. After all, you've gotten me to do this mission for you through a threat and an insult."

In light of that proof, it was perhaps a little cruel for Eroica to flex his fingers just a bit, squeezing Panzer's knee. But the man's muscles were so tense it was possible that he hadn't even noticed. "Haven't I proven to you yet that I'm not stupid? Don't pretend to be doing me any favours, when I know you're helping me only for Christoph's sake, and your own, and that you might still decide to turn on me at any moment and stick a knife into my back."

"You're good at what you do," Klaus growled, "And it's for a decent cause. Maim you, perhaps. Kill you, no. But I am doing this mission only because of my status."

The hand squeezed again, in warning, and tightly enough this time that Panzer couldn't have not felt it. "What was that, Panzer? Another threat? Shall I tell you exactly why you'll never carry it out? You may not wish to hear my logic -- it involves the warmest, most easy expression I've seen you wear yet, as you wound your fingers in my hair and pulled my mouth to yours for another kiss-"

He didn't have a chance to say anything more -- because Panzer backhanded him across his seductive lips, that lean jaw, startled by his own sudden burst of fury. "That's enough!!"

There was more than enough force in the blow to knock the NATO man away. He caught himself on a hand, the other raising to brush at his stinging mouth, and even before trembling fingers were lifted away he knew they would be bloody. He'd tasted the tang as he licked his lips, widened sapphire eyes helpless to leave Panzer's face. "That was... un-called for."

"It was perfectly called for," Klaus murmured, hand shaking now with half-used fury. His gun was re-loaded, the polishing cloth shoved back away into his pocket. To re-holster his gun again... perhaps he'd given the fag enough of a scare for the moment to be able to do so without molestation. Keeping a wary eye on Dorian, he shifted minutely and unzipped his pants to put the weapon away.

The Major's eyes dropped immediately, unabashedly greedy for the little they could see of the contents of Panzer's pants, before he zipped himself back up again.

Apparently no lesson had been learned, by either one of them.

"It was un-called for," Dorian dredged, wincing when the words hurt his mouth. He noticed that his fingers still had blood on them, from where he'd wiped at the cut edge, and he absently licked them clean. "Vulgar and brutish besides, and the next time you decide to throw a tantrum over life's unfairnesses, at least be certain that your aim is good. You managed to miss hitting the person you're truly angry at, Darling."

"And who would that be?" Klaus bit in return, quickly stuffing his pistol back into the holster and closing it, then zipping his pants back up.

"You're not stupid either. Figure it out for yourself."

That bit into him, too, just like the words that had come before it. No, he wasn't stupid, though Dorian was quicker on his tongue than Klaus was. "Perhaps I don't want to. Perhaps I don't care -- there's no reason I have to give in to your sick innuendoes," he muttered, buckling his belt up again, then smoothing the legs of his trousers after lazily drawing one up to his chest.

"No reason for them to bother you, either, if you're so certain that you're immune to them..." That was grumbled sullenly, as Dorian settled himself just where he'd been knocked, reclining easily in a manner which made his dirt and grass surroundings seem elegant. "And perhaps... Perhaps I don't even mean them. Perhaps I'm just getting back at you for the leg -- I do have a very faint scar, by the way, and will show it to you if you ask nicely -- and find this the easiest way to do it."

Oh, and that was such a lie! The easiest way of doing anything usually brought the least satisfaction, and Eroica was *all* about satisfaction. Further, he sincerely believed in every carelessly drawled innuendo, and was even suffering the faint hope that if he shot enough at them at the man-tank, a weakness in Panzer's armour would eventually come to light. Not that any of those thoughts came near to touching his expression. He held it adeptly to an affected, arrogant nonchalance.

"Ah, I forget -- you use sex as a weapon," Klaus shorted, resting his chin on his knee. The very same knee that Dorian had been touching, even! He went on, in a calmer, languid drawl, "enjoy your fun, then, in your back-handed 'art'. I'd rather a knife in my back than someone seducing me to hurt me through it."

"Then you have nothing to worry about, because even I cannot touch a man with no heart." Dorian shot back, unhappy to see Panzer regain his composure.

"No heart?" Klaus sounded amused, simply shaking his head at the accusation. No, such a thing wasn't true -- else he wouldn't care about what happened to Christoph, the long-time family friend. Perhaps he denied it often, yet... yet it was there. An accusation so false left no sting at all.

Its non-effect did leave Eroica glowering at him, waiting for the enraged comeback that wouldn't be spoken, and wondering how in the bloody hell the tables had been turned on him so damned neatly. From clear victory to a sudden rout, the best he could do to salvage his pride was turn stiffly away, hunching his shoulders with a distinctly growled, "Fuck."

Klaus was quietly pleased with himself, and decided to go back to cleaning his shot-gun as meticulously as before. "So, going to give me details on this mission?"

Common sense screamed that it would be insane to waste one of Panzer's rare benign moods, so Dorian plastered his face -- all save his slightly swollen and reddened mouth, which typically looked as if the blonde had been kissed breathless rather than hit -- with an aloof expression and replied, "What details? I'll fetch you when it's time. Christoph will be drugged and sleeping soundly. You'll crack the safe, bring me the evidence, and put it back when I'm finished with it."

"So that's it? Rather simple," Klaus mused lightly, looking at Dorian with only half his attention. "Were you trying to get me to do it last night?"

"What did you expect -- fucking rocket science?!" the NATO man bit out, immediately dampening his tone after. He'd just made up the plan on the spot, but he knew from experience that simplicity was always best, and that even the best-laid plans changed in mid-execution as instinct demanded. He added peckishly, "Last night I just wanted to talk to you, to iron things out in case I didn't have the chance to today."

"You could have gone in, seen that I was drunk, and left -- why didn't you?"

A wry snort. "What fag can resist the temptation of a beautiful man, sprawled drunkenly across his bed, clothes half-way off?"

"You should have just left," Klaus told him, tone still calm and amused, while Dorian seemed to be simmering. "You could have done the same to any drunk and gotten such a reaction."

"Are you so certain, Darling?" the blonde cooed. Better that sugary tone than the disgusted snarl that wanted to leave his lips. "I have experience kissing drunken men, while I'm quite certain that you have no experience kissing anything at all."

There. That dart struck home, as could be seen from the way Panzer seemed to wince minutely, cheeks colouring slightly. "You're right."

Small satisfaction, gained from a cheap shot. Still, it stirred Eroica's mood slightly, a whisper of wind to still sails; a gust would have been preferred, but any movement at all was appreciated. "And I'm supposed to be pleased with myself for noticing what would have been apparent to an imbecile?"

That was, if nothing else, a still cheaper shot, wounding an ego that in that particular area had little that served as a line of defence. With every pot-shot he took and succeeded he could see Panzer's patience slip. "Imbecile, huh? Well, fuck you -- one moment you're going on like it's a treasure, the next, imbeciles, huh? Fuck off, *whore*."

It was, irrational to react so -- but Panzer wasn't thinking rationally when he was angry. He stood up, put two fresh shells into the shot-gun...

And then stormed past Eroica.

"Oh -- have I upset you? Well, it's nice to know that you're capable of at least one emotion, you fucking cold brick!" Eroica's parting remark chased after him, thrown with the little heat the blonde could muster. It was difficult to be too angry at a man so gorgeously stubborn, and easy to be pleased with himself, as Dorian had apparently, surprisingly, won the field.

It shouldn't have startled him, though, when after a quick glance backwards, and a slight feint of motion, Panzer *fired* at him, purposefully clipping the tree just behind him.

The ringing of those shots lingered in Eroica's ears long after Klaus had disappeared into the gardens again.

~~~~~

/Tight pants./

That was, Dorian decided, another thing that he was thankful for. He had a list going in his head, already quite long, and he mentally tacked that item to the end of it.

Boredom being a chief bane of the intelligence community, the British agent had long ago devised a slew of games to keep himself occupied through agonising periods of inactivity and waiting, such as the remainder of the afternoon had been. This was a favourite -- to list things that made him happy, angry, melancholy, any emotion at all under the sun. Today he was working on thankful, all the way through the alphabet, and he was already to the letter 'T'.

/Thick walls.../ So that he hadn't had to hear Panzer storming around the room next door, making ready to attend dinner. An injured mouth and no explanation for it had caused Dorian to be conspicuously absent; the excuse of illness probably making the idiot thief responsible snigger into his wine glass.

Illness. Faggishness probably *was* an illness in Panzer's mind...

"David?" Christoph knocked lightly on the door, voice concerned clearly as he leaned against it. "Dinner is over, but I've brought some up for you..."

"Oh!" A soft creak of furniture could be heard, Dorian rising from bed and padding to the door. He opened it slowly, blinking at the bright hallway light that invaded his pleasantly dim room. "Thank you." He took the tray, turning inside with a gesture that was part invitation, part effort to keep Christoph's eyes away from his face and from noticing his bruise.

Christoph closed the door, entering the comfort of Dorian's dim room. "A pity you missed dinner, David -- I hope that you're not too ill..."

"Nothing too dreadful," the blonde roused, putting warmth into his voice. "Just a headache, from... the guns. Next time I go shooting, remind me to bring hearing protection."

"Mmm, yes -- I should have warned you, I suppose, that Klaus is a very good, fast shot. Did he keep you out there firing for too long? Sometimes he gets... very enthusiastic about it," Christoph excused as he neared the younger man.

"Yes, he is quite good," Dorian agreed. As Christoph approached him, he could see that the blonde's smile was slightly pained, one edge held static through his compliment. "But I didn't mind staying at all. The fresh air was pleasant."

"David..." Christoph's voice was serious and deeply caring -- undeniably tender and loving -- as he reached out a hand to touch Dorian's jaw on the affected side. "What happened to you? Your mouth..."

Dorian took Christoph's hand in both of his, smiling more as he gently massaged the still-strong fingers. "Nothing. A small accident -- Klaus was clumsy."

"Klaus? What did Klaus do to split your lip?" Christoph asked, squeezing Dorian's gentle fingers with sharp concern.

"An accident," Dorian repeated, utterly believably, and then on a vicious whim added, "If you feel impelled to know the story, have him tell it." Because, as Dorian hinted by raising Christoph's hand to his lips and kissing it gently, he had other, more important things on his mind.

That hand turned slowly, stroked over Dorian's cheek, then drew him near to lightly kiss near the wound. Very skilled, erotic yet strong... "I'll ask him about it, then, after you eat," he mused quietly. "I think I need to tell him... about his father..."

Christoph was a wonder, truly. Aside from his progressed age and misplaced sympathies, Eroica couldn't find fault with him as a lover. It was with real pleasure that the younger man pressed himself into the kiss and into the warm, firm body, greedily soaking up Christoph's tender attention. "Mmn... He was a lucky man to have you, and must have been... something special." /A pity his son couldn't have been more like him./

"I can't see why Klaus... is so obstinate," Christoph mused in a soft murmur. "Fear can blind, I suppose... You should really be eating David, and now..." Kissing, so carefully around that cut.

"Yes Darling," Dorian murmured obediently, lingering for a few more delightful kisses before pulling gently away. "I'll take the tray down to the kitchen when I'm finished with it, and I promise to eat everything on it. No need to make Cook watch out for me, just to make sure."

"There are a few things I should tend to, David... Tonight, dear one...?" Christoph questioned without pressing, though he did linger pleasantly near the younger man.

"Yes, tonight..." Dorian echoed, his velvety tone more a promise than his words. "When you've finished with your business, don't bother to look for me here. I'll be in your bedroom." Waiting eagerly in silk pyjamas, with a chilled bottle of wine and a sleeping draught. Though, it would be a great shame to drug Christoph too early, before he had another chance to be the recipient of the man's slow, tender lovemaking...

And then there was the problem that would loom when it was all over -- how to break it off with such a fine, caring man...

For his words, he got a brilliant, warm smile, and then Christoph headed downstairs -- to snag Klaus and have a talk with him.

Klaus was eventually found in the library, listlessly studying one of David's books on mechanised warfare. Wordlessly Christoph invited himself in, closed the door behind him and *locked* it, and settled himself on the couch's soft, buttery leather after placing a glass of whisky on the table at Klaus' elbow. From his own glass he took a sip, causing the ice in it to roll and clink. "I'm not surprised that you prefer that stern chair to the sofa's comfort. It was a favourite of your father's."

There -- that seemed a painless way to open the conversation.

"I don't need a drink," Klaus murmured, glancing at the whiskey after a moment, though he did close the book quietly. "How has your day been?"

"Good, good..." Another sip -- the man was clearly bolstering himself for some task with drink, and when Klaus even looked as if he might leave the chair he got himself a *glare*.

Which brought about a surprised lift of one dark eyebrow. "Is there something you want to talk about...?"

Frankly... "Yes." And a lucky thing for him that Klaus Heinz had inherited his father's directness. "There's something I've been thinking about, since last night..."

"You, too?" Klaus asked, that eyebrow falling a little. "Last night must have not been a good night for sleeping, then..."

"Klaus Heinz!" That was Christoph's serious tone, still quiet though a vibrant, room-filling growl. "I'm very serious! I've... something important to say, which might have been said a long time ago, had I only known of your ignorance. It is not something I or anyone else intentionally kept hidden from you -- please understand that."

Hidden? Very little was ever really hidden from Panzer, except...

Except.

"David..." Klaus fell silent a moment, not wasting too much time because he knew he was cutting Christoph off. "David told me to ask you about my father. Is that what you're going to tell me?"

Christoph was clearly startled, aside from interrupted. He nearly lost his grip on his whisky glass, recovered it masterfully, and took a long swallow before attempting to say anything further. "He, ah... he did? What... precisely did he tell you to ask about?"

"If you and my father were lovers. I told him that such a thing was... impossible, but..." Klaus swallowed dryly, eyeing that glass. "But he said so last night, too, and that was why I couldn't sleep. I drank a half bottle of whiskey, too... and that doesn't really help."

"Impossible why?" Christoph demanded sharply, his tone telling Klaus what he needed to know.

"Because a man's father isn't supposed to teach him that homosexuals don't deserve to be alive if he is one himself," Klaus murmured, tone all very simple -- dark, half-disbelieving confusion.

There was little Christoph could do to alleviate it, save to stumble onwards. Explanation fell out in a rush. "He might, if he was internally conflicted... You know well what duty meant to Hei- your father. He... had a very difficult time reconciling his... urges with the life he and everyone else expected of him. And then there was your mother, and I've never seen a man more filled with self-loathing as your father was, the day he admitted to me that her death was more relief to him than sorrow."

That left another sting of pain, one Klaus wasn't willing to face yet, or perhaps ever. He remember very little of her -- only that when she'd been alive, he'd been happy. She played piano, kept the house warm... and unlike his father, had treated him like something more than an underfoot pest that got in the way during parties, never to be seen except on the holidays. "I don't understand... I don't want to understand."

"Then don't," Christoph sighed, hunching his shoulders in what was more a gesture of defeat than a shrug. Your unwillingness to face this leads me to believe that Heinz was right to keep you ignorant. I don't regret having told you though, even if it means losing the closeness you and I have." Which would be a great tragedy. Klaus was the son Christoph had never had.

"What is there to face, Christoph? That my father was *lying* to me, saying one thing and doing another?" Klaus let his fingers, aching for the familiar feel of a gun just then, stroke over the leather cover of the book he still held. "I don't see what there is to face. So, you're... that way. It doesn't change anything."

"Except that now you're trying to decide whether to hate him -- I can see that in your eyes."

Grey-green eyes slid shut, hiding those emotions' toil. Childish, Klaus knew, to hide even then... "I can't hate someone I never knew."

That won him a slow, grateful nod, even though Christoph couldn't be sure Klaus' heart agreed with his lips. "Just... don't think ill of him that he kept himself such a stranger. It was to protect you, the only way he knew how. He loved you, Klaus."

"He would have protected me better if he had've told me to start with," Klaus muttered, aching fingers still feeling over the book. Christoph was a fag, his own father was supposedly one... and Eroica. He couldn't shun them simply because... well, what his father had drilled into his mind was so painfully hypocritical in retrospect, yet he was at a loss for any other way to *act*. And Eroica, that damned fag fop... "It's hard."

"He couldn't have raised you the way he did, if he'd told you." Christoph's face, weathered and familiar, remained impassive, though emotion was starting to bleed into his choked voice. "Based on his own experience, of spending his life with one person and giving his heart to another... He would have done anything to keep you from the same misery, including raise you to despise people such as himself. It was hard for him too, but I respect his memory too much to question his choices."

"It... has it's ripple effects," Klaus murmured contemplatively. Yes, he was *going* to have asked Christoph for a bit of advice, yet... yet the masks weren't needed anymore, not really. He could still hide the root problem. "The repercussions are catching up with me."

"You will adjust." Christoph chased his assurance with a gulp of whisky, which seemed to loosen him a little. At least, some of the tension lines around his eyes faded. "I have every faith in you, Klaus Heinz. You're a good, strong man, too strong to not take something like this in stride."

"I think I might be queer."

"Because your father was?" Christoph shook his head, wondering how he'd not anticipated such a statement.

"Last night... one of the male guests came into my room and kissed me. I was too drunk to get angry... and enjoyed it quite a bit," Klaus murmured, not looking at Christoph.

So, the conclusion was a little more difficult than simply piecing together his unmarried state and his father's leanings. Christoph considered, meticulously, leaving Klaus to simmer in the resulting silence.

"It was... also the first time that I've ever kissed... anyone," Klaus murmured. "It's all been rather too much for me to process in... barely two days."

"The first?" Christoph's brows drew slowly together, and Klaus recognised the expression as one of displeasure, bordering on worse. "And the... attentions you received last night were uninvited," he stated, "And utterly unconscionable. David has a lot to answer for."

David? Dorian. Eroica... /*Shit*. Think on your feet, Klaus.../ But what was there to think?! That if Christoph knew that it was Dorian -- David -- then obviously the man couldn't be seduced that night... "Christoph..." Grey-green eyes opened again, tired in ways that his father's had almost constantly been, looking at Christoph's angry expression. "It was a mistake -- I know he's sorry for it. He does love you."

The elder man was on his feet immediately, stalking with purpose to the door. "It was a mistake -- the last he will make while under my hospitality." Anger, and protective instincts for Klaus, were blessings, because he could postpone being hurt by David's infidelity until he had the chance to process that emotion privately.

/Fuck./ Now Christoph was harder hurt than he would have been if Dorian had been the one to break it... and the 'mission' was a loss already. Klaus remained in the library, deciding to read and keep an ear on the hall-way to prevent anything tremendous from happening.

Christoph was a being of purest ire as he made his way up the stairs. David... *his* David had kissed -- and perhaps done more, it was hard to tell if Klaus would admit or not -- a guest. A guest that was the son of his old lover, almost his own son, for all that it mattered. And David's face... it was Klaus of course. The boy had a temper, though he let it rise less often than his father had -- there was no doubt in Christoph's mind, though, that David had had the hit coming to him

The young student must have been startled when the bedroom door flung open. "I know how your mouth was hurt, David," Christoph pronounced crisply.

He *was* startled, jumping (guiltily?) where he was elegantly reclined on Christoph's bed, browsing through a book. Surprise was smothered too quickly though, as he slowly closed the book and set it aside, and raised confused eyes to his lover. "You do...?"

/He does?! Of fuck -- THINK! What would that dumb fuck of a thief have told him!?/

"You will not lay another hand on him," Christoph growled, without missing a beat. "It's bad enough that he's shy about these things, but for you to take advantage of him when he's *drunk* -- a guest in my house!!"

"Take advantage..." Pretending to process the accusation gave Eroica the time he needed to formulate a course of action, as he raised a trembling hand to touch the edge of his mouth. It was a act worthy of high praise, as he let a little true horror slip into his expression. "Oh no! I think he misunderstood my intentions! This morning, he was so angry... He- He wouldn't listen to anything I had to say, just yelled. And then he hit me, and I was afraid he might do more. But don't be angry at him, please! The fault is mine."

"What were you doing in his room last night, and why did you kiss him?" Christoph all but demanded, stalking closer to his own bed, where Dorian still lounged. "I'm not angry at *him* at all, David."

"But- But I didn't!" the student protested, crawling over to meet his older lover. Hurt was in his eyes, and confusion also, and he made an aborted attempt to touch Christoph's hand. "I ended up in Klaus' room by mistake last night! H-he was very drunk, st-struggling to undress. I used to return to the dorm at night to find my roommate in a similar state, so I knew what to do, how to help him get comfortable... But then he had a hand in my hair and wouldn't let go, and demanded that I kiss him..." So close to the truth, Dorian felt it easy to spin out the story, minus a few glaring omissions.

Oh, his acting would have got loud rounds of applause from his men, had they been there. But it was only Christoph...

And it suddenly made sense to Christoph why Klaus hadn't had any anger other than that one burst that he'd apparently hit David with. Christoph's tightly controlled fury swept out from under him in a rush -- he would just have to... forget the incident, just as David had, so easily, and just as Klaus... would have to.

"I'm sorry I jumped to that conclusion, dearheart," Christoph sighed tiredly, slipping to sit beside his lover on the bed. "It just... didn't seem like Klaus at all..."

"Oh, don't be sorry!" Dorian immediately pressed himself into the curve of the man's shoulder, his relief genuine and strong enough to cause his liquid voice to tremble a little. "If anyone at all should be sorry it's me, for causing the whole mess in the first place! If only I hadn't walked into the wrong room... And then I didn't want to say anything, and cause more embarrassment to us both... Christoph, I'm sorry! I should have told you."

"Yes... and Klaus should have told me the whole story..." Christoph sighed, petting a hand luxuriously through Dorian's thick curls. "Well, I did jump to a conclusion." Lightly, he kissed the side of Dorian's face, just above the bruise. "Forgive me. I should have another talk with him tomorrow... He's trying to muddle through... his sexuality just now, and I believe, drunk or not, a man should have a little propriety."

One more thing to be thankful for -- that Dorian was snuggled contentedly into of Christoph's shoulder, and that the other man didn't catch his eyes pop open in astonishment at the mention of Klaus' 'muddled' sexuality. /Oh, FUCK me! What if he *is* really, and-/ And the thought had simply too much joy to complete. "I think..." the younger man murmured, "That it would be best if I kept away from him for the remainder of his visit."

That would seriously diminish Eroica's dual desires to throttle Panzer for nearly blowing his mission, and to verify his hunch by grabbing him and kissing him silly.

It hurt Christoph that he'd have to do that... because to spend time with either of them would require him to shun the other. "If that is what you want, David..." Then he'd have to oblige. Probably, for Klaus' comfort, avoid him, too, though that had the duel edge of hurting the younger man deeply. After all, it wasn't as if he was social with any of the other guests...

And the Schloss was, as he'd said that morning, such a lonely place.

"I would rather not have to choose between the two of you, though, David," Christoph murmured. "However... let us think about this later, hmn? For now..."

The choice wasn't his to make, as Christoph would eventually learn. But for a while longer, Dorian could provide him companionship and love that was a blend of illusion and truth. "Mmn hm. For now..." The blonde leaned to retrieve two glasses from the side table, pressing one into his lover's hand as he smiled seductively over the rim of his own. "For now, more pleasant thoughts...?"

~~~~~~

Klaus was tense as he waited in his room. God-willing, the mission wasn't botched. God-willing, Eroica would come and tell him that Christoph was asleep before *he* himself could find a way to relieve his stress other than doing sit-ups and push-ups.

It was not a pleasant night, spent waiting for news of two men having sex... Had it happened or not? Worse, he had no idea of how long he could expect to wait before he found out!

How long did sex take? And would Dorian come to get him directly after the act, or would the other man stop and bathe first? He hadn't heard Dorian being kicked angrily out of the house, nor heard a single movement in the man's room next door...

Nor did he, for several more hours. And then the sound which disturbed his listless doze was his bedroom door being locked from the inside, and none too softly at that, by a robed Eroica. His mussed hair was dry, gleaming mutedly in the low light from a single lamp, and with him came again the indistinguishable musky scent which Klaus could now guess had something to do with sex.

No shower, then. He could only hope the Major was wearing something underneath that robe!

The thief tensed, got out of bed almost immediately -- to reveal that same sleek black set of clothes that he'd worn that night Dorian had -- temporarily -- apprehended him. "Is it done?"

Upon closer inspection, Eroica's face could be seen to wear a furious scowl, and his hands, pulled well into the over-long silk sleeves as he stormed across the room to stand and *bristle* before Panzer, were undoubtedly clenched into fists. "No thanks to you, you fuck-up! Christ -- do you even realise that there are lives hanging on this mission?! Use a little fucking *sense* the next time you open your mouth!!"

"You gave me no more God-damned details other than that I'm supposed to fucking steal the contents of his safe!" Klaus snapped firmly. "It was simple conversation with him -- he jumped to the conclusion it was you all on his own!"

"Me who *what*?" the blonde demanded icily.

"I was just *talking* to him," Klaus hissed -- knowing and not caring that it was pathetically vague. "You that came into my room and kissed me! I was talking to him about that!"

Eroica, completely stupefied, could only stare at Klaus as he replayed the thief's words in his head, repeatedly, just to make sure he'd heard correctly. Surely no one was *that* much a fuck-up!

"I didn't say it was you," Klaus growled, pacing around the room for a moment, not looking at him. "I was just talking to him." He certainly wasn't going to tell Eroica that he'd been asking Christoph for advice on it, though he'd never got the chance!

"You obviously didn't have to! THINK, Klaus! How many *other* men have given you cause lately to want to belt them across the face?!" With Panzer already taking up much of the space in the room with his long-strided pacing, Eroica was forced to hold his position, when he also would have liked a way to burn off some of his fury. "So, you as good as told him that I'd kissed you, when my cover is that I'm his lover! Fuck -- even the greenest recruit I've ever trained had more sense than you do. Remind me to *never* kiss you again; it turns your mind to rot, and I hope for your sake that the damage isn't permanent, otherwise you'll be behind bars the next theft you attempt!"

"That's damn fine with me," Klaus bit. "I've no interest in being the target of a professional military whore's desires. Now let me go do my fucking job."

"Fine -- I don't want you anyway, knowing that you kiss like a terrified frog," Dorian sneered. "Go do your fucking job, and return to my room when you're finished. I've got semen dripping down my leg, and I need a fucking shower."

"I don't need to *know* this shit," Klaus snarled, storming off -- at least up to the door, where his motions fell silent again. He opened, and then closed the door quietly behind him as he slipped off into the hall. /Terrified frog... fuck *you*./

Dorian waited, counting ten, and then gave in to a sudden whim to poke curiously through Panzer's belongings before returning to his room and the shower he actually did need. Nothing was found in any of the bureau drawers, in his travel bags, that was of any interest to the NATO man, although he did linger over the temptation of the shirt Panzer had worn earlier in the day. It had looked so elegant and smart on him, and still probably smelled of his cigarettes.

But no -- why would he purloin the German's shirt, when he could have a pair of the man's lovely heather-grey underpants instead?

Humming softly, and with his prize clutched tightly to his chest, Eroica slipped next door. And from there into a nice, hot shower, during which he entertained himself with imagines of a horrified Panzer realising they'd been taken. Worse than horrified if he knew that Dorian had actually *worn* them. Or better -- perhaps he would wear them once, return them before they were missed -- and *then* tell Panzer. Oh yes...

Panzer was unaware, objective intent as he crossed over to the other side of the building, keeping an eye open for any wandering guests or sign of someone who may spot him, then slipped into Christoph's bedroom/

True to Eroica's word, the elder man was arranged comfortably in his bed, the bedclothes around him in telling disarray. Clothing strewn around the room told Klaus that Christoph was naked, though a tender attempt at modesty had been made, a blanket tucked carefully over his chest. His expression was impossibly peaceful and relaxed as he slept deeply, and his lips wore a sated little smile.

Klaus carefully blocked all thoughts of sex from his mind, thoughts of what had certainly happened there while he'd waited, and made his way over to the small safe Christoph had in the corner, tucked under a shelf. He kept quiet, studied the model for a long moment, then gave the knob a quiet spin in each direction.

He did it twice more, then simply spun the dial a few times before the started to enter in the numbers he heard. Standard clock-wise, counter clockwise, clockwise safe, three numbers, so there were only a few possibilities.

On his third try, the lock opened for him.

There wasn't a lot within the safe of interest to a thief looking for information. A few stacks of bonds, deeds and other important, age-browned financial papers; some bits of jewellery and a few military medals; a stack of correspondence, tied neatly with a leather strip. So, the small cylindrical stainless-steel capsule stood out as an oddity.

An oddity that Klaus pocketed after a moment of letting his eyes linger over the correspondence... No, he'd get that another time, look at that when it was less important, now that he knew the combination.

Christoph would undoubtedly be safe left alone in his room sleeping, which meant that Klaus had no reason not to hurry back to Eroica's room with the capsule. At the door, similar enough to his own that they *could* be mistaken, he tried the knob and found it invitingly unlocked.

No sign of Eroica himself, though, other than the bathroom door that was closed and the sound of running water. Semen down his leg, he'd said... Klaus shuddered as he blocked the thought, and started the pace the length of the room. On a whim, he pulled a flattened pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and started to smoke once he'd rummaged the Major's room for a lighter.

Presently the sound of water cut off in the bathroom, and a few minutes later Eroica exited into the bedroom proper, a billow of steam escaping behind him. His hands were busy tying the sash of his silk robe, and his expression brightened to discover Panzer waiting for him. "Ah -- back so soon! Sorry to keep you waiting, but being clean always does a great deal to improve my mood. And it will lift a considerable bit more when I hear some certain words from you. Say them, Darling -- say, 'I have the microfilm'."

"It's right in my hand," Klaus murmured, shoving hat hand into his pocket as he stood, flashed it at Dorian with a black-gloved finger. "Easy to get."

"Darling!" Eroica flung himself at Panzer, wrapping his hands around the man's wrist and plucking the little capsule from teasing fingers. The practically-squealed endearment could easily have come from the lips of a woman being propositioned with diamond jewellery, and sent a shiver racing the wrong direction down the thief's spine. "You're wonderful! Marvellous! I could kiss you, but... well... terrified frog and all that..."

"Fuck off 'and all that'," Klaus snapped, pulling away from Eroica's constraining hands. "Understand *that*? Mission over, I did what you wanted, and I don't want to fucking see you again until you want me to put that canister back in his room."

Dorian was already prancing to his suitcase, and presumably the means to copy the microfilm. "Fifteen minutes!" he called back over his shoulder. "And if you're so sick of seeing me, what are you doing still in my room?"

"Waiting for you to copy that," Klaus scowled, though now he was smoking and looking at the door. "I can't keep going in and out -- it'll draw attention."

"Well, if you're going to stay, do it quietly," the Major explained, as he got out a cigar box, lifted out the false bottom, and set about assembling a small, intricate piece of machinery. "No bitching, understand? I need to concentrate."

/No *bitching*?/ Bitching. Klaus lit another cigarette, stifling his response with a heavily drawn breath of smoke, and a little more silent pacing. Bitching... oh, when he left he'd kill the blonde man, just *kill* him... first for using Christoph, then just for being a faggish *ass*!!

/Hm.../ Well, wonders never ceased! Panzer actually *was* silent as Dorian pulled out a pair of thin cotton gloves, delicately extracted the microfilm from the capsule and unrolled it to run it through the machine. The copy process really didn't take all that much concentration, nor was it tricky beyond a need for dexterity. It was simply easier for him to concentrate on important tasks without the distraction of the thief -- and he was a distraction simply by being in Dorian's room!

"Here." When Dorian had checked and double checked his copy for accuracy, returned the film to its capsule and wiped the capsule of fingerprints, he returned it to Panzer by tossing it across the room. "And... thanks."

"Fuck you." Klaus caught it, pocketed it smoothly and then strode out the door, closing it behind him. Somehow, the air out in the hall was cooler, easier to breath than the air in Dorian's bedroom. He'd felt smothered in there...

A quick detour to snub his cigarette out in an ashtray in the hall, and Klaus started back towards Christoph's room.

Ten minutes later, he was back in his room with the packet of correspondence clutched in one hand.

They would undoubtedly be missed, if Christoph looked into the safe before Klaus managed to return them to their place. *If* he returned them at all, for the reason that they'd been taken, the reason they had so caught his eye, was that he had in shifting them to put the capsule away, noticed that the age-faded handwriting belonged to his father.

Now if he could only bring himself to look at them.

It as only after a moment of contemplating -- also that he'd get no more rest that night, and that come morning he'd probably look like a corpse -- and a shot of whiskey that he carefully opened the straps that held the stack together, and looked at the first letter.

The top-most was dated about three months after his mother's death, and seemed to be the most recent letter in the batch. The others were far older, dating probably to their early friendship as fellow soldiers in the NDF. After... Well, for a while after Christoph had moved into the Schloss, had lived there for several years, and thus written communication had not been necessary.

The latest one, then, was where Klaus would start -- his mother's death... Klaus wouldn't believe what Christoph had said his father had said about her death unless he read it himself!

That the letter was creased, as if it had been crumpled and then carefully pressed flat again, did not bode well. Even worse was that it opened with, ~ Can forgiveness be had for one such as myself? ~ After that line there was a blotch, where a fountain pen had rested against the page for too long, before his father's precise script continued.

~ I have no other way to say this but plainly. All other attempts have been failures, destined for the waste bin, and this letter will probably end up there as well. My friend, I cannot continue my life as it stands without having serious thoughts of ending it. While Katrina lived there was duty to bind me, her welfare and Klaus' to consider. Now there is only Klaus, away at school more often than not and in the good care of my brother should anything happen to me. The silent halls of the Schloss are slowly driving me mad. In the void of my life it is your absence I suddenly feel most acutely, my dear Christoph. Please -- I beg, on my knees at your feet. If there is anywhere left in you the affection you held for me years ago, you will respond. Say that you will meet me, or come to visit, anything... ~

It was signed simply, ~ Most humbly and desperately your friend, H. ~

His father was a fag.

His father, his tank commander of a father... Klaus swallowed as it hit him full, and he folded the letter up again, but only after reading it four or five more times. His mother a burden. And him as well -- just... things for his father to have seen to the care of. Not...

/Just fucking stop thinking,/ Klaus snapped as himself, though the well of anger he felt at Christoph for meaning so *damn* much to his father.

The other letters were still here, yet... he wasn't sure if he wanted to read them yet.

Later -- definitely, when he could bolster himself with a good dose of alcohol and not have to worry about falling into Eroica's lecherous hands again. The letters might be missed before that though, and he grudgingly admitted to himself that they ought to be returned, when outside his door he heard another creak open and closed, and footsteps. Eroica, returning to Christoph's room. The letters would have to be stashed in his belongings for return another time.

The next day. He'd return them... the next day, when Christoph was doing something. All he had to do was slip in, open the safe, toss them in, then slip out...

Not so hard a job for the professional thief to accomplish, and with that thought, Klaus finally decided to crawl into bed, after shoving the letters into the back of his suitcase.

~~~~~

It was one of those emotional rains, weeping from dark, damaged clouds in irregular bursts, and producing a soupy fog which clung about the knees, so thick as to soak immediately through the fine linen trousers Dorian wore. It was, in short, a perfectly lovely day for a stroll through the woods -- provided that you were either actively pursuing a case of pneumonia, or had a secret rendezvous to keep.

Though Dorian had gone to the trouble to wear a coat, his reason for being in the woods in the rain was not immediately clear, as the coat was thin and fashionable, no real protection at all from the cold. Perhaps... he was courting illness, but wanted to do it in style?

Or more likely 'David' hadn't any coats that could be described as 'sensible', and Eroica was now paying the costs, in terms of blue lips and full, body-wracking shivers.

Up a fairly steep embankment, slipping on wet grass and mud, and finally his path levelled and cleared, the woods cut by a narrow, infrequently used road. "When I get back to the house, I'm taking a nice, long, *hot* bath," the miserable, sodden Earl complained aloud, letting go his umbrella with one hand to grope for the door handle of the car he seemed not at all surprised to discover there. He threw himself into the passenger seat, slammed the door behind, and sneezed once, delicately, as he held his hands before the heater vent. "Damned miserable weather... The next time I go under cover, I'm risking bringing a radio. Or semaphore flags. I could have stood -- *warm* and *dry* -- in my window and signalled you, Darling..."

"And no one would have noticed?" one of his agents, a short man named Bonham, chuckled as they pulled out. "How's it gone so far, sir, on your end?"

That remark earned the older man a hearty clasp on his shoulder, and a wry smile from his superior. "Good man, Bonham... Always the reason to my rhyme. Don't know what I would do without you constantly cutting my ideas to shreds with your keen sense." Not malicious at all, but chuckled. Eroica truly was grateful, because he knew himself for the whimful creature he was. It was nice to have balance.

The Major sat back in his seat, half listening to the low-volumed hum of conversation the car's radio was emitting. " 's been marvellous, ever since the party ended and that brute thief returned home. I honestly thought he was going to ruin everything."

"What'd he do this time?" Bonham asked as he drove slowly -- best to get Eroica into a better mood than he seemed to be, before breaking the bad news to him!

"Oh, nothing so awful that he couldn't redeem himself with a little helpful safe-cracking," Eroica growled, rubbing his hands together briskly. Feeling was returning to them in painful pin-pricks. "Now, about this hand-off... I trust Christoph is being followed? I'll want another car on him. Make sure he's not lost, but that our men aren't spotted either."

"About the drop-off, sir..."

"Just so long as you didn't put Agent James on surveillance. I wouldn't be surprised if, with his jealousy, he tried to lose Christoph on purpose."

"James is on surveillance, sir, but... the mole, his expected contact agent? His house burned down today. With him in it."

"Bloody fucking hell!"

Yes -- in retrospect Eroica could proudly say that that sentiment had summed up the situation quite nicely.

~~~~~

'Holidays' were a shitty thing! He was sure they were only created to piss people off, put them at risk, and fuck with their minds.

His mind, he was sure, had been thoroughly fucked with. It *had* to have been, for him to be looking at Z the way he was trying to see him. The kiss from Eroica, and the letters... Now other than 'what next to get' he had the question in his mind of 'am I a queer?'

A disturbing question for him to be mulling over, and the *look* he was giving Z as the thief poured him coffee was almost predatory!

Far, far worse than the half-impatient, half-angry look Z was accustomed to receiving -- when Panzer chose to look at him at all, rather than simply barking orders indiscriminately at the lot of them. Nerves made his hand on the silver tea-service tremble slightly, though to his eternal relief he managed not to spill a drop. "W-will there be anything else, Panzer?" he inquired, already backing hopefully for the door.

"Yes, there will be, Z," Klaus murmured, taking a sip of NescafÈ. He *did* look a bit angry around the edges... "I told you, didn't I, that I ran into that fucking Major when I was at Christoph's?"

"It wasn't my fault!" was, illogically, the first thing that tumbled from the young blonde's mouth. He looked immediately sheepish, bordering on horrified, and continued with, "But- I mean, that's obvious... No -- what I meant was, you told us. But there was no way for us to have known, to warn you!"

"It doesn't fucking matter. We're going to be paid for a job I pulled for him... and I need to test something. So get the fuck over here."

"T-test something?" Z stammered, nevertheless discovering to his horror his feet instinctively obeying on their own. Four reluctant strides carried him to stand just before the lounging Panzer, and he wondered if it wouldn't be exceedingly bad form to squint his eyes shut. At least that way if it was a new weapon Panzer was wanting to try, he wouldn't see the blow coming...

A hand in his hair was the first thing he felt, Panzer leaning up a little. "Get down here."

/Ow, ow ow.../ "O-okay," he managed to wince as he stumbled to his knees, not entirely unaccustomed to this method of Panzer's for focusing his attention on some missed detail. "What is it that you wanted to test, Sir?"

And then he leaned nearer, jerking Z close. Lips pressed to lips, careful at first, then moving a little, trying to elicit some response from Z other than simply being stunned. But, no luck. It still felt interesting, warm and... But not the same. Z was released quickly, Klaus frowning deeply. "Hmn."

In the petrified moments that followed, Z tried to dig through his mind for *some* explanation as to his leader's impossibly bizarre behaviour. The best he could do was a vaguely recalled custom of the Italian Mafia, something about a kiss of death... /Oh God!!!/

"Well, you can leave now," Klaus told him, sounding oddly displeased as he settled back into his chair, and took a slow drink from the cup Z had poured for him. "I'll let you know what the next target is tonight."

"Y-yes Sir!" Somehow Z made it out of the study, though he found himself far, far down the hall before he recovered a little his nerves. Just in time to, still anxiously looking over his shoulder for the bullets he expected to at any time come blasting through the door, turn the corner and slam into a quickly-moving A.

A staggered, stunned for a moment before he asked, "What's wrong -- is he shooting?!"

A sheet-white Z made a grab for the front of his senior's shirt, and *clung*. "No, but- But-"

"But-but what?" A demanded, stunned to see Z *clinging*.

"He's gonna kill me," the younger thief choked out in a whisper.

"He's going to kill you? Why?" It wasn't an idle fear, with Panzer, though God knew the money and training was good... but it still wasn't an idle threat.

"I don't know! He's going to kill me, and I don't even know what it is that I've done wrong!" Oh, the injustice of it all! He wouldn't feel quite so bad about dying, if it was a punishment he knew he deserved. Unless... Perhaps Panzer had found out about the telephone and the bum?!

"Z, Z, calm down... *why* is he going to ki.... never mind, I'll go... talk to him..." Oh, lord, and there was the *phone* call to deal with, too! Z was pressed away from him carefully, and A drew together all of his strength to pace towards the doorway Z had just come out of.

His courtesy knock at the door was softer than usual, and his call more hesitant, as he informed, "Panzer, Sir...? There's a... telephone call for you."

"Telephone? Who is it?" Klaus asked, getting to his feet and setting his cup aside. When he answered the door he looked... calm, if a bit displeased, still.

Then, A might as well tell him up front, get the explosion out of the way as quickly as possible. "It's... Eroica, Sir," A murmured, with effort holding Panzer's gaze. Looking away was an obvious sign of fear, he reminded himself... "He says that it's very urgent, cussed G out viciously when he wasn't put through to you right away."

"That must have been a shock," Klaus drawled, moving back into the study. He had a phone there, but for his own sanity he kept the ringer off. "He's on the first line, na?"

"Yes, Sir. Do you want the conversation recorded?" A inquired, motioning to the switch near the telephone that would start the recorder. It was kept constantly set-up though off, as matter of privacy. Panzer didn't want his private calls taped.

A moment of debate, then Klaus shook his head. "Not this one." There was barely a pause at all from that dismissal, to picking up and pressing the line number. "Eberbach."

And scarcely another moment before his eardrum was assaulted by a furious shout of, "Kept me fucking waiting long enough! First it was that simpering tart who answered going on and on about you being unavailable -- as if she owns your time -- and then I sit on hold simmering for fifteen minutes, while you're no doubt off wanking!"

"Tart?" Klaus sounded a bit startled, but processed back through it. "Oh, G answered the phone. He'd be your sort, fag. Now why the hell are you calling my house?"

Panzer employed a fag...? An interesting thought. Too bad he hadn't the time presently to ponder it. "Meet me in ten minutes, the little park on the edge of town. The one with the duck pond -- you know it, yes? And bring whatever resources you'll need to smuggle us across the border, into East Germany. That's where they've taken Christoph, and we're going to rescue him."

"What..." /Oh, *shit*!/ "They've taken Christoph? Shit, God-dammit... F!!!! F!!! Get *IN* here!!" A sharp bellow, and Klaus barely bothered to put his hand over the receiver. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," Eroica answered, his firm, serious tone and lack of accompanying innuendo proof that he'd shed his foppish persona entirely. "The situation is this: Christoph left this morning, at ten-thirty, to go to town. Alone. The pretence was that he was picking up something, wanted it to be a surprise. He was followed by my men to the contact point, where he was quickly shuffled into another car and lost in an ensuing chase. The contact had soured somehow -- I don't know what went wrong, but the other side spooked... The mole's body was found in the burned-out remains of his house this morning, and it was the Stasi waiting for Christoph."

And there was nothing officially that Eroica could do about any of it. The mission was a failure, though through no discernible fault of his own, and so far as his fat Chief was concerned, the scum Eastern sympathiser Christoph was only getting his due if his Stasi masters blew his brains out and dumped him in an unmarked grave. NATO resources and personnel could not be deployed across the Iron Curtain without possibility of an international incident, and he could be severely punished for the transgression when it was discovered -- there was no 'if' -- even if the rescue was a success...

"*Fuck*.... All right, I'll be there in fifteen, with IDs. Put on workman's clothes, one gun, hidden. I hope you've got an idea of where he is. Bring a picture of yourself, too -- a small one!" And with that, he hung up, just as F burst into the room. "F, I've got a job for you and *fast*."

"Right -- clothes, gun, photograph, in fifteen." Bur Eroica found himself talking to static, and hung up also.

Those demands were relayed to Bonham, who in turn delegated them, discreetly, to the appropriate agents. 'Following orders' was always a viable excuse when Eroica needed the occasional illegal act from his men, though the less they knew the better for all.

Which *didn't* mean that Agent James was stupid. His wail was nearly ear-splitting as he grudgingly delivered over the purloined set of workman's clothes. "Don't go, Sir!!! You'll get yourself killed, running after that nasty old man!"

"I'll hear no arguments," Eroica warned sternly, as he pulled on the clothes James had found him. They were a little snug, patched in places, and it was probably best no to ask where they'd come from. "Christoph is my responsibility -- a good, honourable man, despite being a little politically foolish. I won't leave him to harm, any more than I could one of you -- no matter what that bastard Chief says!"

It would, too, soften the blow of the 'break-up' when it came. One good, good deed to make up for hurts inflicted... And there was the added plus that the man probably meant a lot to Panzer, even if the thief were loathe to admit it. Just one more piece of leverage should he ever need it.

Bonham had the car warmed for him, too, ready to go as soon as he jumped in. "Is this wise, sir?" he asked, almost out of reflex as he roared down to the park.

"Of course not," was Eroica's cheery reply, as he butchered his also-false student identification with a small knife for its photograph. "But it is right, and I'll be in the best of hands..." The most violent too, but there was no doubting that Panzer wasn't an incredibly capable thief and killer.

"If you're sure of it, sir," Bonham acquiesced, pulling to the edge of the park. "Just let you off here?"

"Don't wait for me." Dorian was already out of the car, the closing door almost cutting off his words. Bonham knew that if he wasn't heard back from within twenty-four hours that something had gone wrong, and to not expect his return.

"Yes, sir."

Bonham zipped off straight away, leaving Dorian to meander quickly through the park. Klaus was there, dressed as a workman, with his long, pretty black hair pulled back into such a severe tail that it seemed he'd cut his long locks off entirely.

Thank goodness that he hadn't -- no small number of Dorian's recent daydreams had included running his hands through the glorious stuff -- and the Briton couldn't help a grim smile as he ambled near. To Panzer, it must have appeared that he was happy to see the thief, which was probably a little true also. "Is everything in order?"

"Give me your picture, and I'll finish your ID card. We'll have to drive; it'll take four hours to cross the border, and from there I hope you've got an idea where we're heading," Panzer rumbled, moving near with a fine grade of glue and the thin sheet of laminate to press over the 'ID' when it was done.

"How fast can we afford to travel?" Eroica inquired, leaning with mild curiosity to watch the ID-manufacturing process. "They'll have had nearly two hours on us. If we can cut the lead down to one hour, we'll have a better chance of catching them while Christoph is still alive. They won't take him far inside the border -- I've a pretty good idea where." NATO also had agents working on the other side...

"Back roads only -- we can haul in speed," Klaus murmured, smearing the glue on the back of Dorian's photo, placing it carefully, then tossing the glue into the bushes as he smoothed the laminate over it. "Z's driving."

"Have I met him before?" Dorian questioned, with a bubble of interest, as he looked over to the waiting van and saw two blondes involved in a nearly teary farewell. One he recognised as the poor man who'd gotten himself backhanded for fraternising with Bonham; the other was... cute.

"Oh, *shit*, it's just a run, you *fools*," Klaus barked as they marched over to them both. "A, get lost! Go home -- I'll contact you when we're back. Z, get in the fucking front seat and fucking drive. Eroica, you and I are going to sleep in the back." Well, pose as sleeping -- that way they'd pass through checkpoints easier.

"Remember!" Z was pleading to A, clutching on to his fellow's sleeve. "When he comes back without me, my will is in the large envelope. The smaller ones are for my sisters." For surely this was what the kiss had been about!!! Panzer was going to make him drive into East Germany, and then leave him there! "Oh, oh A... I shall miss you! You've been like a father, a brother..."

Such a touching scene... And the younger one, the driver -- Z? -- was, on closer inspection, more than simply 'cute'. He was adorable, and, disgustingly, probably stood as good a chance as Dorian did of ever getting into Panzer's pants.

It was then that the Briton actually *heard* what Panzer had said to him. The realisation struck him dead in his tracks, where he was still standing, jaw slightly agape, when Klaus impatiently turned back to discover what was keeping him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you -- we're on a time limit. Z, you're going to drive like hell, you understand me? Eroica, get in the *back* with me!"

"So that... we can sleep together...?" Dorian repeated, for the sake of clarification.

"Yes! If we're sleeping in the back, they won't bother interrogating us at the checkpoint, and they won't know you're British!" Klaus tapped his foot on the ground, even as he opened the truck's back door for them to both get in. Was it such a hard concept for the man?

Considering, Dorian quickly decided on the course of action that was less likely to get him smacked for an inappropriately groping hand. "No thanks, Panzer Darling," he grinned uneasily, as he headed past Klaus for the front of the truck. "At least until we reach the checkpoint, I think I'll try my luck with that cute Z fellow. Better than sharing the back of a truck -- again -- with your foul personality, cruel and decidedly un-humorous jokes, and dangerously tempting body."

It hadn't struck Klaus, the innuendo of his request -- but when it did, there was little he could do but snap his jaw closed, get in the back of the truck, and slam the doors closed. There was a large space between the back and the front, where it would be possible later for Dorian to crawl over the back of the seat to get in the back. He perched on the edge of the make-shift sort of seat there, fuming quietly and starting to smoke. One minute flirting, the next insulting... He was gong to *snap* that fag's neck the moment he got him alone.

Z was less than pleased to discover himself sharing the front of the van with the 'God-damned fag Major'. His situation worsened considerably when Dorian attempted small talk, as a way to pass the several hours to the border. "So... Z, is it? Nice to meet you at last, if you're the nice boy I talked to on the telephone. And something tells me that you are..."

That something was probably a ferocious blush, spreading quickly from Z's cheeks to his entire face, his neck -- even his ears went pink! "I'm... um... trying to concentrate on driving, Sir," he answered, quite uncomfortably and well aware of the feel of Panzer's eyes boring through the seat and into the back of his head.

"Eroica, shut the fuck up if you want to get there," Klaus growled at him. " 's why I told you to get back here, so you wouldn't distract him!"

"No," Dorian replied, "I thought that you told me to get back there with you so that you could have a little fun at my expense, watching me squirm. Terribly funny, Panzer. Ha ha."

"Watching you *squirm*? Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Shall I tell him?" Dorian inquired, leaning closer to Z. "I think *you* know what I'm talking about, Darling."

"I've got no fucking idea," Klaus muttered from the back seat, ready to get up to his feet, though, to throttle Dorian if need be!

"I h-have no idea either!" Z protested, thinking that even if he *was* to be dumped in East Germany, that fate was a far cry better than being tossed out of a moving van to be caught under the tires!

"Oh, don't be such an ass," Eroica drawled, being careful not to actually *look* at Klaus, fearful of catching sight of his doubtless furious expression. "You casually drop an incredibly appealing suggestion which you don't actually *mean*, and expect me to think that it was unintentional?! I'm trying to behave -- really I am! But you're sure as hell going out of your way to make it difficult!"

"H-he usually doesn't know he says--eeep!" Z stopped babbling as soon as his lips had parted -- no, a clean death was better than a dirty one!

"I didn't say a God-damned *thing* to you that was a 'suggestion'!" Klaus snapped. "You take everything as God-damned innuendo..."

"You fucking told me to get in the back of the fucking van so that we could fucking SLEEP together!! That wasn't innuendo -- that was- It was..." Dorian scowled, a description for the blatant remark not coming to his mind at all. "Fuck. Just quit doing things that bother me, intentional or not. I'm trying to concentrate on the task ahead."

"You're telling *me* to quit doing things that bother *you*?" Pent-up anger could only be restrained for so long, as Panzer was proving in his particular burst of unhappiness. "Listen, you stupid... I didn't mean it that way! And you fucking *insulted* me -- if you're so damn put off by suggestions like that as you go on about it, then you shouldn't be *bothered* by your own fucking misinterpretations!"

Z risked in the tiny silence before the Major could respond, "I... really think you shouldn't say anything else. Really! He starts to shoot things when he's less angry than this."

The anger seemed less the rough rage that Z was used to though -- more frustration. "Won't shoot him. Fucking NATO... Just drive, dammit, Z, and keep that speed up."

"Yes Sir!" He wanted to lean, to tell the Major that he was lucky, as Panzer seemed to fancy him more than most, but valued his own short life too much to do it.

"See?" Dorian purred smugly, speaking to Z rather than Panzer. "He can bluster all he likes, but he won't dare try to *kill* me until he's managed to avenge his wounded pride and prove that he can kiss better than a terrified frog."

"If Christoph's life weren't on the line, NATO, I wouldn't put up with any more of your shit, Mr. Can't Fire a gun for shit." That frustrated anger was rising hot again, and there was no outlet at all for it!

A terrified frog?! Oh, Z did NOT want to think about that at all! He redoubled his grip on the steering wheel, and blocked out everything else with the pleasant pretense of being deaf.

With the driver ignoring him and Panzer ranting at him from behind, Dorian decided that it was time to crawl into the back. He wasn't taking any more threats from that stubborn, vicious son of a bitch! "Now, you look here, Panzer!" The Briton was flushed with anger as he worked his way between the seats, shaking a finger at Klaus as he managed to stand, if heavily crouched, in the back of the swaying vehicle. "I need your help, and you need mine, and Christoph needs us to work together and stop squabbling if he's to have a chance to live. I- Damn it -- stop looking at me like that!"

"Stop looking at you like what?" Klaus asked venomously from where he sat. "I'm more than happy to work with you, if you drop your fucking obsessions and insults!" The anger... that odd, odd anger was still there, roiling and threatening without Panzer having to make a move at all -- oh, Eroica had *really* pissed the man off!

"Oh, so I'm supposed to make concessions to your temper and sensibilities, but I'm to take your rudeness and threats as matter of fact?" The Major slid gracefully to sit cross-legged, pressing his back to the van wall opposite Panzer. "Well, fuck that, Mr. I Have to be in Charge because I can't stand compromise. I'm willing to swallow my pride, apologise, whatever it takes, in order to *try* to make this partnership work. But I can't see how the bother is worthwhile, when you'll just continue to treat me like a fucking piece of shit someone tracked inside on their shoe."

"I'm only treating you like shit because you keep crossing my damned boundaries!" Klaus snapped again. "How 'm I supposed to treat you when you open conversation with fucking people you don't even know with 'hey, he kisses like a frog' and your summation of me as something considerably *less* than human...?!"

"You're upset about THAT?" Eroica was stunned. "Why should it matter at all to you what a *fag* who you hate thinks of your kissing ability?! You've hated me from the get-go, on that merit alone! If anyone has been treated as less than human it's been the 'fag' you've railed at for being depraved and perverted and *disgusting*."

Klaus' fingers twitched, a spasm towards his gun before his jaw clenched as tightly as his hand did into a fist. "You're entirely against a second chance, aren't you, dammit?" Snapped words as he started to his feet, to *pace* in the small space of the back of the van, head ducked down. That, too, solved him the problem of having to *look* at Eroica.

Eroica managed to negate that benefit though, through the sheer amount of confusion that entered his voice. Klaus could imagine with little effort what the blonde's expression must have looked like to match that voice. "A second chance...? I'm not against them at all, but thought if anyone would be it would be you." After all, a second chance inherently meant that you admitted to having screwed up a first one.

He could see in his mind's eye that one fine blonde brow would be raised, those too blue to be real eyes widened slightly, full lips pursed slightly... /*Fuck*, don't think like that!/ "I'd like one, dammit."

Understanding dawned suddenly, and Dorian reached a hand to tug on Panzer's pant leg as he stumbled past. "Pa- Klaus. Please stop that pathetic pacing and sit down. Pretend that we're both normal, sane human beings, and talk to my face."

"Fine." Pretend...? Well, it would never be true that they were 'normal', by simple virtue of their respective professions. He sat down opposite the man, expression muddled between frustration, anger, confusion --the confusion was the most acute of all, strange and foreign to his facial muscles. Almost always, Panzer had everything worked out, had every piece in place to flow like clock-work for him. "I told you that... I'd like a fucking chance to start over. I read a letter between Christoph and my father, thought about it..."

Dorian listened patiently, and when no further explanation seemed to be forthcoming he answered softly, "I... just realised that this had to be about... that. And if you're getting a second chance, I'd like one too."

Klaus nodded contemplatively. "All right. All right. Personal disputes aside, then. There's really no sense to them." Not anymore, there wasn't, and he certainly didn't disagree with Dorian's politics, though his methods...

Were just something he wasn't going to think about.

"No, there isn't. Especially not with a man's life on the line." Dorian nodded decorously in agreement, and gingerly stretched out his legs, making sure that they were no where close to touching Panzer. "And I appreciate that you would make the first overtures towards peace."

"I guessed I should, since I was in the wro -- Z, get your God-damned eyes back on the road!!"

"Y-yes Sir!!!" For the next half hour of the drive, Z would keep his eyes so tightly trained on the asphalt before the van that he didn't even once read the speedometer. Not that he needed to -- he could judge their speed to be somewhere between 'too fast' and 'awful bloody fast' -- and he daren't disobey Panzer. Not after the nasty shock he'd got of glancing back at the astounding scene in his rear-view mirror, and catching a glare of flat grey-green watching him in return.

"Excuse me...?" Fine, honey-gold brows drew softly together, more confused than angry for once, and Dorian leaned a little closer, as if there was something wrong with his hearing. "I could have sworn that you just said..."

"Said what?" Klaus asked, settling back into his place. His eyes went calmer as he settled back, appreciating that Z was listening to him well.

"Never mind." Dorian *was* fairly certain that he'd heard at least the beginnings of that word, and wasn't about to try to make Panzer say it again if he didn't want to. "You just... surprised me, is all. You're always surprising me, and I'm not accustomed to being surprised. It's rare, to find a man who can do that; I can generally read and predict them so well..."

"I'm sure you are -- 's your job, after all," Klaus complimented, leaning back. He looked so severe with his hair pulled back, and *felt* just as severe, because it was starting to give him a headache.

"It's a skill I employ to do my job," Dorian corrected, smiling faintly. "Some of my missions have been downright desperate, and I will and do use *any* method necessary to complete them."

"Shooting?" Klaus asked with a wry twist of his lips -- not insulting, no, but it was a tease he couldn't help but make.

And made in such good humour, Dorian couldn't help but be amused right along side him. "Does it surprise you that I can't? Perhaps if I *could* worth a damn, I would employ that method too. But I'm utterly hopeless at it. Better to not shoot at all than risk shooting something or someone I didn't want to."

"You could try aiming at the people you don't want to hit." That suggestion was a bit crueler, but... certainly Klaus' natural humour, biting, pointed. "How did you start into your job?"

In the spirit of the truce, Dorian could overlook a little amusement at his expense. "Oh... That's rather interesting, actually," he sighed, glancing around for something to be used as a pillow, so that his head wouldn't bounce so on the van's inner wall. "I was young, every bit as headstrong as I am now, and wanting desperately to get out of my father's house. I forget who it was suggested the military, but I figured that with so many many men, it couldn't be all that bad. And then one of my instructors discovered that I had a real knack for intelligence." Manipulation, information-gathering, working the system to his benefit...

"Seems the career for you," Klaus agreed. Soon... well, not soon enough but soon, the checkpoint would be hit. Another hour, he guessed, unless Z was driving well and faster than expected. "You'll probably move up the ranks quickly."

"Doubtful." A sour tone entered the liquid voice. Klaus had apparently hit a sore point. "Not that I really care about rank, but-" But these past two years he *hadn't* risen once, and had slowly grown tired of watching officers with far poorer service records pass him by.

"I don't really care," the Major muttered again. "I like my job, for the most part, and I'm *good* at it -- the best. My father, my fat Chief and all the rest can take their prejudices to hell with them."

"Was your father military, or just...?" Curiosity to satisfy, and that alone was the reason Klaus even asked.

"Just a lazy titled shit with political aspirations, which he blames me for ruining along with the family name."

"Hmn. Hard to argue that, though he's probably wrong. He probably ruined them himself," Klaus shrugged. "One can get away with a lot, after all, without ruining the family name."

"Your father was discreet," the blonde reminded, idly wondering how long this truce could last. It was *nice* to hold a sensible conversation with Klaus for a change, one which didn't involve shouting and threats, insults and innuendo. "I've never been anything of the sort. Probably subconsciously *wanted* to damage the family name. 's all I fucking hear about. That, and my refusal to settle down and get a squalling brat on some brainless bitch..."

"So don't." Not helpful, but what else could he suggest? "Eventually... if Father hadn't died, I'm sure he'd be doing the same to me right now. Perhaps all parents do it."

"No -- *he* would have understood." Dorian was certain of that. "From what Christoph told me..."

"After the day we broke in, remember, Christoph spent a lot of time with you avoiding me." More, Dorian had avoided him, and Christoph was just *with* Dorian. To the point that when Klaus left to return to the Schloss he wasn't noticed as 'gone' for five hours or so. "So there wasn't much chance for me to find those things out."

"He's a family friend to you, but after today -- if we recover him alive -- he won't want anything to do with me. I don't regret at all monopolising his time." Not when he was hopeful that they would rescue Christoph, and that Klaus would have ample time to pick the man's brain. They could leisurely discuss their mutual dislike of British fags over tea. "But if anything does go wrong, I promise to sit down and tell you all that I know."

As two sided as it was... Klaus nodded. "I would appreciate that." Because if Christoph died, so would a lot of things he'd never even *thought* to ask about... /Always late about things, aren't you Klaus...?" A sideways glance through the front window, and he startled. "Lay down! We're passing the checkpoint!"

Z had been just about to warn them, even though the checkpoint was a ways in the distance, and the line of vehicles stretched before it rather long. This task -- driving them through and answering questions at the checkpoint -- he was quite familiar with, as he'd done it many times before. Panzer had once said something about him having a sweet, guileless face, and ever since the job had been his.

Dorian lay down quickly, pillowing his head on a bent arm, but just as soon as golden lashes had swept his cheek they were lifted again, though not very much. "I'll need to navigate after this. And, won't we have trouble getting him back across? He'll have no identification..."

"The seat I'm on lifts," Klaus murmured. "Hollow. Now shhh." He could navigate all he wanted, after they passed through the checkpoint all right!

Getting out would be more difficult than getting in -- it would have to be! Dorian, eyes pressed closed and concentrating on smoothing out his breathing, let himself be lulled by Z's light, boyish voice as he flawlessly answered questions and handed over paperwork.

One boarder guard stuck his head into the back to the barren truck, compared the two IDs that Z had handed over for his companions, and nodded. "[Drive on through.]" They'd have to use a separate boarder road to return on, but half of the trouble was done with.

Klaus stayed still, though, until he was sure that they were far enough from the border station. "Dorian, get up in the front and navigate."

He did as told, slowly immersing his mind in the task at hand, but not before purring to the charming Z one last offer. "Are you *certain* that you don't want to give NATO a try? Panzer is right about your face, Darling. It just screams innocence, quite an asset for an agent."

"I'll be damned if you're going to slink off with one of my best men," Klaus growled, moving to lean against the seat that Dorian was climbing over.

The agent was beaming as he slapped the young driver on his shoulder. "Hear that? I tried. But, well, if Panzer really wants to keep you, there's not anything I can offer that he can't top, especially not on a NATO salary!"

"A's from NATO, in fact," Klaus murmured with a distinct glint in his eyes. "Pay's better on the 'wrong' side of the art world."

"A?" Dorian questioned. "Is he the one you smacked on the face, when you discovered he'd been friendly with Bonham? No wonder they got along so smashingly!" An answering glint, when Eroica turned briefly to smirk at Panzer over his shoulder, said that he wouldn't mind at all the challenge of trying to win A back to the side of righteousness. "Oh -- left here, Darling. We'll want the highway north."

"It'd be quite the challenge to get him back, you know," Klaus drawled, eyes as much on the road as Z's were. "You NATO sots used his wife as collateral in a mission... needless to say, the Soviets do some interesting things with electric current, all of them fatal." Which put his mind more solidly to the fact that they needed to get Christoph *quickly*.

"Surely you of all people understand the occasionally high costs of the extreme means employed by men such as ourselves. Though the loss makes me sad, it is nevertheless a risk that every agent has accepted, and part of the reason that I never hang on to a lover for any length of time."

"Wise -- and men such as ourselves also understands that we should put ourselves at risk before our men, hmn?"

"For a man with little regard for human life, you seem to hold a lot of concern for your men."

"It's my job to take care of them as much as it is to line the collective pocketbook," Klaus informed him easily. "Most of them have worked with me for years -- Z's the newest, and he's been working for me for... two years now, Z?"

"Two and a half," Z answered proudly. He had hope now, thanks to the remark about being one of Panzer's 'best' men, that he wasn't going to be abandoned after all! But relief made his confusion doubly worse, because he no longer had an explanation for the bizarre, frightening kiss!

*Why* would *Panzer*, of all people, kiss him?! It didn't make sense, unless Panzer was trying to woo him, or...

"Ah, well, time passes quickly," Klaus shrugged. "When we get there, Eroica, what are we going to do? Sneak in, kill them all, get the hell out?"

"Um..." The Briton sounded unsure. "Something like that. I was hoping we could proceed under the pretence that Christoph was like an artwork you were hoping to, er, acquire. What normally would the plan be?"

"Sneak in, knock them out or kill them, then sneak back out," Klaus shrugged. "Not so much difference."

"I suppose not." Such a bother to speak to someone hovering just over your shoulder, and the one time Dorian had turned, it was to find Panzer leaning unsettlingly close, intent on the road ahead. So, it was no more turning after that, even after he'd managed to settle the heat in his stomach such proximity caused. "Your skills will be much more useful here than mine. 's not like I can seduce them into giving up Christoph, and I can't talk us in there with my charming British accent..."

"He could be anywhere in there -- we need to go in unnoticed, find him, then just burst out," Klaus murmured. "Hopefully he isn't too badly injured..."

Dorian shook his head. "Not unnoticed. The... place they'll have taken him is small, no more than an old farm house. Isolated too, and there's a garbage pit out back where they burn the... ah... less fortunate guests' bodies. We'll need- Oh, left here, Darling," he nudged Z's arm. " -need to either ditch the truck and move in on foot, or use it as a distraction, provided that we can be sure it stays drive-able."

"Ditch the truck, move in on foot -- we need it unseen so we can pass over the border again," Klaus said thoughtfully. "So, we'll startle them. Shoot out a couple of windows, slip around to the back."

"Can Z shoot?" Because Dorian sure as hell couldn't, and he *was* going in the back, one way or another. He would simply prefer that it be under the uncannily exact cover-fire of Panzer.

"Ja. I trained you myself, didn't I, Z?" Klaus drawled pointedly. "He can shoot."

"Then, he creeps around front, finds cover, and starts to shoot out windows. We run in the back, you shoot everything up, I find Christoph, and we escape." To Eroica, that sounded like a well-formed plan.

"We'll see." Klaus had a feeling things wouldn't be so well oiled, but... ah, but, it was worth a try. "Essentially. Is the house over the crest? We should stop now if it is."

"A little further," Dorian guessed, not bothering to tell Panzer that he'd never seen the place, outside of detailed photographs snapped with a telephoto lens from a great distance. "The terrain isn't quite right yet. Younger trees, thick, where the forest has reclaimed old farm land."

"If you say so," Klaus shrugged, pulling his gun out of the discreet holster that he wore under his workman's clothes, checking over it quickly.

Dorian made a show of doing the same, unbuttoning his coveralls and withdrawing the same little silver gun he'd captured Klaus with on the night he'd broken into the castle on the Downs. But he was half-hearted in his check, and his hand refused to grip the distasteful thing too tightly. "Say, Klaus... I hope you're not expecting payment for helping me -- the rescue not being NATO condoned and all that..."

"Payment for the break-in, yes -- for this, no," Klaus assured as he re-buttoned his shirt, gun clutched with familiarity in his hand.

Pointing, Dorian directed Z off the road and into the trees, as ahead he could see the foliage getting thicker, and there would be no place to hide the truck. "Yes, well... I should have said 'helping Christoph' instead of 'helping me', though I still do feel as if I owe you something..."

"I don't like to break into the houses of friends," Klaus murmured, moving towards the back again as the van pulled to a stop. "And I did make your job there easier." He opened the doors from the inside, then jumped down to the ground, closing the van's doors behind him. Best to move *fast*.

Dorian though was of a more cautious bent, easing from the front of the van at the same time Z leaped, not even bothering to close the door behind him. Why, when he would only have to open it to get in, probably under a rain of bullets? "Easier, but not possible," he picked up the conversation again in a whisper as he followed Panzer's furtive crouch-run into the trees. "Though I do thank you for that, too."

"Hmph." That was a smug almost laugh, hard to catch at the man paused for a brief moment, looking through the trees, before starting off again at that same stunning run as before -- oh the *muscles* he had to have to do such a thing!

/Absolutely NO thinking about muscles!/ Dorian chastised himself. Because invariably thoughts along those lines led to worse, and Panzer's lovely, firm ass was prominent with him crouched over, gliding through the trees.

Sneaking seemed to be one more thing Panzer did well, aside from breaking in through windows!

The house came quickly into view as they ran, hidden well by a dip in the land, still buried in the thick tree-growth. Old, ramshackle... Klaus wasn't sure there'd be windows to shoot out!

Z was creative though, and would surely discover *something* to shoot, even if it was simply the house's plank walls and sagging tin roof. All they had to do was wait for him to take position with his rifle.

Dorian crept up to press against Klaus in the little hollow, and stole a pleasant moment to notice that immersed as he was in the task at hand, Panzer didn't seem aware enough of the closeness to protest it. /Interesting.../ But then Eroica too had to press all thoughts save the mission from his mind.

"We need to get closer to the house," Klaus hissed softly, starting to his feet in a smooth motion, not even minding that Dorian *had* been so close.

The blonde followed, wary and crouched low. "Lead on then. You've more experience than I in sneaking. Get yourself into position, and don't worry about me following. I can keep up."

Leading on seemed to have been the idea Klaus had to start with -- because he didn't even wait for Dorian to finish talking, just started off in that crouched dash under the line of sight from the sparse windows, towards the back door.

In Dorian's opinion, there was close, and then there was too bloody close for comfort, and it was somewhere there that Panzer finally stopped, and Eroica stopped too. Huddled against the German's side, he had his little snub-nosed gun gripped in both hands and pointed safely at the ground. /Wonderful. Just bloody fantastic. If they don't hear us *breathing*, Z is going to put holes into us when he shoots *through* the bloody house!/

It was then that the shots started. One, two, three, four...

Four, in quick succession, was for the number of people Z had counted through his scope shifting inside the house. Five originally, but his initial shot dropped the first, neatly in the head, and he thought that he had nicked a second. After that he was more conservative with his pulls on the trigger, sighting each carefully, to little effect now that his prey were under cover.

And Klaus stood up! Like a damn fool, Eroica had to think, Klaus stood up, then kicked in the back door!

While standing smack in front of it, too! Dorian was half expecting Panzer to be knocked away from the door just as quickly, bullets pounding into his body.

But he wasn't! Instead he sharply gestured for Dorian to go in front of him, while he fired into the room beyond that door, killing two more.

There wasn't much room between the narrow door frame and the wide-stanced, firing German, but Dorian managed to wriggle through. Thankfully he still hadn't had to shoot anyone, and didn't relish the chance to discover whether or not his aim could be trusted at near point-blank range.

Klaus moved into the room a bit further. "Secure -- next door." And so, it seemed they'd go in -- there couldn't be more than four rooms in the small house, so Klaus wasn't terribly surprised when the next door he swung open revealed Christoph...

And three other men, one of whom had a knife to the old man's throat.

/Fuck./ Even small blessings -- namely that Christoph was still alive -- Dorian couldn't be thankful for in this situation. There was a fairly good chance that he wouldn't remain that way for long, as with a barked demand in Russian for the thief and NATO man to lower their weapons, the knife was pressed forward enough to draw a dribble of blood at its very sharp tip.

Klaus lowered his carefully, finger sliding off of the trigger. "[Rus not so good speak -- Deutsche?]"

"[Don't fuck around!]" another of the men yelled, as the third, the youngest, shifted his grip on the pistol he was waving between Dorian and Klaus. "[You can fucking understand me well enough to know that I want the guns on the fucking floor NOW!]"

It was Dorian's voice which answered, that same appallingly even tone he'd infuriated Panzer with the night he'd been caught stealing the Man in Red. "[So that you can shoot us both and kill the traitor too...? I think not.]"

"[We want the old man -- give him... over, and we leave. Backup is at the front door.]" And then he lifted his head a bit to call in German, "[A! Y! Z! Fire when I give the command!]"

The youngster with the gun was torn, wavering swiftly now between his two targets, and Dorian was rather pleased to catch the muscles of his throat straining to swallow. /Good, good... If I can catch his eye, it would give Klaus time to fire./

"[Guns! Floor! Now!]" screamed the in-command man, as a jerk of his head caused a reactionary jerk of Christoph's as the knife wielding Stasi drew his cut from a point to a line of red.

If Klaus fired at the antsy one, Christoph's throat would be slit out of sheer shock reaction from the knife wielder...

Klaus nodded, narrowed grey-green flashing anger as he crouched to reverently lay his gun down on the floor -- and moments before the action would have been complete, swung his gun up, and fired through the forehead of the Stasi who held the knife.

The stubborn idiot *would* move before Dorian could courageously draw the young German's fire, and got shot for his trouble. At least, there was the explosion of a discharge, the accompanying flash, and Panzer reeled drunkenly. Another shot, perhaps meant for him, and Dorian wasn't sure if it had hit or not... /No fucking time to find out!/ And no second chance.

So, not trusting his aim, Dorian made a lightning overhand motion, as if to *throw* his gun at the Stasi.

And flung a knife out that took the man's eye out, and would probably claim his life in short enough time. Leaving the head Stasi of the three, at least until Klaus fired three shots right into the man's gut. He staggered to his feet, too, moving towards the chair. "[Ch... *shit*, shit shit, you hurt?]"

More pressing was, "[Are there any more?!]" Demanded by Dorian as he pressed his way quickly passed the hunched Panzer. The answer to the other question was, after all, blaringly obvious. Not only Christoph's throat, but his arms, through torn sleeves, wore ribbons of red, and he was hanging forward exhaustedly in the ropes around his chest, now that the knife wasn't holding him upright.

Two more shots rang out then, breaking the silence -- the Z's voice calling, "[All clear!]"

"[Good -- now get the God-damned van down here *NOW*,]" Klaus roared, trying to stand firmly again but with little success yet.

Christoph, though, had the pain of broken limbs to contend with in accompaniment of the *shock* of what he'd just witnessed. It didn't seem anything else was broken, though... "[No, just get me out of here, David...]"

"[A minute Darling,]" Dorian promised, hating to have to prioritise. /Klaus first. Klaus is shot, could be bleeding to death right now./ Taking the tall German firmly by the shoulders, the blonde managed to wrestle him around. "[How badly?!]"

"[Not... *shit*, not so bad,]" Klaus hissed, starting to try to stand again -- though the tearing and sheer wetness of the dark cloth over his right pectoral seemed to say opposite. "[Need to go... get... get Christoph, dammit!]"

"[You need to fucking get off your feet,]" Eroica snarled at him, the words composed of frustration-laced fear. "[Christoph isn't going anywhere, at least until Z gets down here with the van. You're going to let me look at your injury!]" Stupid, pig-headed man!

"[God dahhh.... gg. Dammit, 've been shot beh... before,]" he snapped back as best he could, even as Eroica made him lay down in the gritty wooden floor of the farmhouse. "[Eroica, hear... 's the van...]"

"[Shut up, idiot,]" Eroica growled, roughly tugging the thief's shirt open to reveal the round, blooded point of the bullet's impact. High enough that it might, just *might* have missed his lung. He tugged a little more, getting a hand behind the man to search with trembling fingers for an exit wound. "[I've been shot too, so don't think I'll believe this is something minor. Just because you're called 'tank' doesn't mean you have the thick hide of one. You should have been more careful!]"

He didn't bother to mention to Klaus that he'd been about to do the same, foolish thing, and was frustrated partly because the German had beaten him to it.

He could feel that, too, a larger circle of jagged flesh, covered with cloth, and Klaus gave an angry hiss when Dorian felt over it. "['s minor, stop touching it!!]"

"[Sir?]" Z's voice from the back entrance to the room, blonde head peaking in. "[Oh, you've been shot!!]"

"[Fuck, yes, I *know*!! 's just get *out* of this hellhole first!!]"

"[Z,]" Dorian requested politely, "[If you could see to Christoph, I'll get your foul-mouthed leader loaded into the van. Don't believe him when he swears that it's nothing, but I'm fairly certain at least that he won't be bleeding to death anytime soon.]" And before Klaus could attempt it on his own, Dorian yanked on his good arm, got it around his shoulders and dragged Klaus to his feet.

And they left the farmhouse that way, Klaus cursing every last step of the way.

Z was more careful, but just was quick -- making polite conversation as he cut Christoph loose. "[So you're the mission, hmn? Can you stand, sir?]"

"[Mission...?]" Pain-clouded eyes hid a desperate confusion, as Christoph very gratefully was freed from his restraints by Z's knife. "[I don't understand... Why is David here, with Klaus? And why did Klaus call him 'Eroica'?]" He could stand, he was fairly certain, though he didn't try immediately. After all, his legs were still whole. It was his hands the Stasi had started on first, breaking the small bones one at a time until both were swollen, crippled knots of pain.

"[He's NATO,]" Z murmured after a moment as he carefully slid and arm behind Christoph, the old man's arm over his shoulder while he tried to avoid touching the *mess* that were the man's hands. Had he just said *Klaus*...? /Uh-oh.../ Where work crossed real-life lines... "[You know the, uhm... boss? Tank?]"

Z's answer was a barked noise, more pain than laughter. "[Know him? Fought in the war... with his father. Practically *raised* him. Don't... know about this 'Tank' thing...]" And David -- Eroica -- was NATO?! /Should have fucking *known* I was... being used./ He should have known that anyone so blessedly fresh and kind, perfect, couldn't be real.

"[They'll explain... when we're on the right side of the border,]" Z promised softly, starting to quickly guide Christoph out the back door, where Dorian had already dragged Klaus.

"[I don't- AHH! Th-think that they can,]" the elder man winced, as he and Z hurried to the van. It was difficult enough moving while keeping his damaged hands held stiffly in front of him, and even worse when Z handed him up into the back, with Dorian's help. Klaus had already been pressed to the floor with a wad of cloth to hold over his chest.

"[Dammit.... Z, do you have the ids ready? Use a different checkpoint!!]" Klaus watched from the floor, half-heartedly, he'd have to admit, as Dorian then proceeded to lift the seat to *hide* Christoph away in it. "['s tehnn... shit, shit, minute, drive.]"

"[Drive, Z,]" Dorian ordered. "[I'll get the doors. Just get us out of here.]" It must have been a little amusing to the NATO man to have his order obeyed so quickly, because he was smiling tightly as he turned back to the van's other passengers. "[And you two...]"

"[Get.... something to hide from the g.... guards that 'm bleeding,]" Klaus growled roughly, rolling to lay on his back, flat, as if it would help any.

"[A blanket...?]" Dorian cast his eyes around, looking for one, and darted out a hand to steady Christoph as the van lurched into motion. "[And you're going to let me put pressure on that, for as long as I can, until we have to feign sleep again.]"

"Yes, yes, do it," Klaus shuddered, switching to English again as the jarring of the van seared the pain anew -- anything to not hear the British man's tones butcher a good tongue any longer!! "'s soon, though.... get Christoph... in the seat."

"[In...?]" Silent to this point, the man perched on the edge of the seat was glaring between Klaus and Dorian with open suspicion in his watery, pain-hazed eyes. "[I want to know what is going on. I don't want to get into any seat, and I refuse to speak that horrible language.]"

"[I just 't shot trying to save your ass 'cause you're fucking a **Soviet**!]" Klaus snapped, closing his eyes tightly for a moment before looking at Christoph with as much attention as he could garner.

"[It is better than siding with the filthy Americans!]" Christoph growled, before falling silent in confusion. It was hard, so hard to pull his thoughts together! Was this something he wanted to tell Klaus? H couldn't seem to recall... "[Ruin the country,]" he finally muttered, sullenly, ashamedly fixing his gaze on his toes.

"[Ruin the country...? Ruin the fu... fucking country? Have you... have you BEEN in eastern Germany before now? Have you...]" Pain made it harder to argue, and his sharply barking voice was so much softer because of the pain. "[Have you been to east Berlin? The *soviets* have ruined half our fucking country -- it's gotten better on the half where the damn Americans are! Fuck them -- they're not *here*, they're not in out nation any longer!!]"

"Klaus..." Dorian tried to steal the irate German's attention away, by taking the drenched bit of cloth from Klaus' hand and applying another, cleaner wad he'd torn from his undershirt. "It's no good arguing right now, either one of you. You're both half out of your minds."

"[God-dammit, I dealt with you being a queer, I'm fine with it, but I won't let you be a god-damned soviet!]" Klaus railed, though he trailed off towards the end.

"[Tank, sir, Eroica, we're coming up towards the check-point,]" Z warned them both.

"Christ..." Eroica wanted to just knock their heads together and get it over with! "You, hold this," he snapped at Klaus, putting his hand again over the cloth. "[You, in the seat.]" When Christoph looked like he was going to balk again, Dorian pulled him off with a growl, flipped the seat back, and proceeded to stuff the complaining man inside. "[Get in there and stay quiet, if you want to ever get home again. And give me that blanket!]"

With broken hands Christoph couldn't hand it, so Dorian had to simply snatch it, then closed the seat over top of the older man. Klaus, holding the cloth over his wound, started trying to get to his feet so he could stretch out on the seat and make it less suspicious. "Quicker..."

"Here." The ratty blanket was unfurled and tossed over Klaus, tucked up with unnecessary care beneath his chin. "If you can't help wincing, pretend you're having a nightmare. And- Hold still..." Blood, a smear across his jaw, that Dorian rubbed away with a spit-dampened thumb.

He didn't get snapped at, but a grateful murmurance, and Klaus closed his eyes tightly -- then kept making those slight lip movements, flicking his eyes back and forth behind those closed eyelids -- pretending to be sleeping, in fact, helped him distract himself from pain.

Last to take position was Dorian, snuggling his head on his bent arm again, and throwing himself fully into the pretence of sleep. Something he was very practised at, and did well. So well that the guardsman who tossed open the back door and looked over the van's occupants didn't seem to warrant either he or Klaus a second glance.

Z, on the other hand, was not so lucky. The man who leaned casually in the van's window and demanded identification had sharp muddy green eyes and lips that had all the fullness of a pencil line.

"[Why are you leaving the country? The work passes of these two can warrant it, but you...]"

"[E-excuse me?]" Z was polite, nearly so much as had he been speaking to Panzer. But unfortunately low-level bureaucrats such as border guards are suspicious of politeness, thinking it masks insult.

"[Why are you leaving the country? Step out of the vehicle,]" the guard decided, on a whim, stepping back so Z could open his door and step out.

There was nothing could be done but obey the whim. A terribly anxious Z slipped from the van, protesting softly as he did so, "[I am the driver. If I do not drive, the others will not get to their jobs, and my boss will be terribly angry with me. I do not wish to lose my job!]"

"[You're the new driver? You're not familiar, is this 'route' new?]"

"[Oh, no Sir!]" The marvellous thing was that Z truly did look -- and in fact was -- anxious, fearful more of what Klaus would do to him if they were caught than anything the East German government might devise. "[I mean, yes. I mean... I am new, but I'm not supposed to be here! They gave me a map, but I have gotten lost. I followed signs... Already I am late -- my boss will be furious!]"

"[All right. Get back in the damn car, but don't get lost next time!]"

"[Yes Sir! I'm sorry, Sir!]" Z made an attempt to grab and shake the man's hand, griping it with both of his until he was shoved away.

Which gave him all the better chance to scamper into the van and roar away.

Klaus wasn't aware that he'd stopped breathing until he sucked in the first aching lung-full after too long without.

It was just after he exhaled to gulp in another that Eroica could be heard, very softly, making a sound which was suspiciously like laughter.

"Wha.... what the fuck's wrong wit' you?" Klaus asked, trying to move off of the seat so that Christoph could be brought out again.

"Are you certain you won't give up the boy? What an agent I could make out of him!" As attractive as James, and certainly less annoying, but with the same innocent, disarming qualities.

"Absolutely not!" Klaus snarled, sliding down from the seat to lay on the floor again, on his back. "Get... Christoph out!"

"I am, I am! Calm down, Darling."

Christoph had nearly passed out somewhere along the way, and Dorian had to gently shake him to awareness. "C'mon. Let's get you out of here, okay? And to the nearest hospital please, Z. I'll arrange everything with NATO, once I can get to a telephone."

"[D-David...?]" Christoph had apparently forgotten some of what had happened.

"[Mil'tary hospit'l care, great,]" Klaus drawl sarcastic even through the pain.

"[David... what's going on?]" Christoph demanded as he was helped to his feet, and the seat was put down again, so he could sit.

"[We're taking you and Klaus to a hospital,]" Dorian explained patiently, even as he pressed Klaus flat to the floor with a hand on his chest. Without asking he pulled the blanket off and quickly set about pressing *that* over the wound.

"[Who are you, though? You're not... David.]" Pained and tiredness blurred, Christoph looked as if he were going to just pass out again.

"[I am not.]" Dorian looked up from the bloody task long enough to favour the older man with one of his brilliant smiles. "[Be patient with me, love, and all will be explained. But right now I'm a little busy tending to Klaus.]"

"[Tank. I don't understand any of it... you're NATO? Is Klaus, too?]"

"[He isn't -- simply a very notorious thief.]" Dorian's next smile was for Panzer, every bit as brilliant as the one he'd given Christoph. With the rescue completed and none of their own dead, he felt he had every right to smile. "[A very talented thief, who join NATO if he wished. With his skills, they would welcome him with open arms. So, what do you think, Panzer? We do make a rather brilliant team...]"

"['ll go legit when hell freezes over,]" Klaus promised, "[Or if you 'ver read Dante, when hell *warms* over!]"

"[You're already 'legit',]" Dorian laughed softly, unaware that as he held the makeshift bandage to the German's chest that his thumb was brushing the inflamed skin, a soft caress. "[Unless one job isn't enough to count.]"

"[It'll count once I've been paid... stop rubbing me, damn you!! Just let me bleed, you don't need to pet me...]"

Christoph's eyes narrowed as he sullenly watched the pair, Major and thief. "[You really did kiss him,]" was his sudden accusation, followed by an angry, "[And you used me. I hate you, David. Or whatever your name really is...]"

Dorian did stop that small touch, jumping a little at Klaus' growl. The back of the van was suddenly an uncomfortable place to be, shared as it was with two angry German men. "[I could just go and sit with Z, you know,]" he sighed unhappily. "[At least he won't be ungrateful that I've just saved his life, or get mad at me for trying to keep more blood on the inside of his body than without!]"

"[Shit, sorry, just hurts,]" Klaus snapped out, eyes closed tightly still. "['ve got a hole in my chest and you've got a... *dammit*, dammit...]" He shifted a little, to hit his head against the floor -- it was funny how new pain made the lingering pain seem to fade. "['ll explain later, Christoph. 's a long st'ry...]"

Christoph's expression softened considerably to see Klaus in such pain. He edged closer, clearly wanting to be of some help but unable to do anything but hover annoyingly overhead. "[Oh God... It isn't that I'm ungrateful. Not at all! I just- j-just...]"

"[Hush Darlings -- both of you,]" soothed Dorian, as he wriggled his hand beneath Klaus' head to prevent it hitting the floor again when the van hit more ruts. "[Everyone will be exchanging explanations, but later. I want quiet until we get to the hospital. It can't be much farther.]"

"Which hospital, sir?" Z asked tentatively from the front. "The first one we come to, or....?"

The more Christoph listened to the boy's voice... the more strikingly he recognised him as Klaus' butler!!

That was the problem with Klaus' men -- no initiative. Dorian supposed that living in fear of fouling up Panzer's wishes *would* be crippling in that regard, so he was a little more kind than he would have been to one of his own agents as he uttered sharply, "Yes, the bloody first one! Let's skip the leisurely tour of the countryside until we aren't transporting two badly injured men!"

"Yes, sir!" Z took a sharp *turn*, then, and slammed on the gas pedal -- as if permission were granted to drive like a flaming idiot and to speed all the way towards what looked to be a military compound -- oh, and familiar for Dorian!!

"That's brilliant Z, really. But how are we supposed to get in?" Dorian questioned, as he recognised a the small base as a NATO holding. "I'm not exactly wearing my identification."

"They won't recognise you?" Z asked hopefully, ready to change direction again if told to do so.

The Briton sighed, a heavily frustrated sound. "Z Darling, I haven't *really* slept my way through the ranks, as your leader seems to think I have. Further, I've never been stationed in Germany, so there's *no* reason for a couple of low-ranking gate-watchers to recognise me!"

"Oh." Z turned the barrelling vehicle then, away from heading towards the base. "There's a civilian one not ten minutes away..."

"[Thank fucking god, you're *not*... Dammit, not going to have me arrested!]"

"Idiot! I didn't say that I couldn't get us in! Turn the van around!" On second thought, perhaps Z would need a *bit* more seasoning than Dorian had thought, before he would make either a competent thief or agent.

"But..." Z trailed off, almost whimpering as he turned around *again*, and this time didn't veer.

"[Oh, hell, hell, dammit,]" Klaus swore, almost a continuous stream of curse words now.

Christoph was relieved not to be flung across the seat by this newest change in direction, but he hung doggedly to the armrest with an elbow anyway, and frowned at the two men on the floor. "[Klaus Heinz! Such foul language... If you're a thief, maybe you deserve to be arrested. Maybe we both deserve what's coming to us...]"

"Shut up Klaus," Dorian asked, with little hope of it actually happening. "If you don't, I only have two hands, so I'll have to be creative in finding a way to stop your mouth. Shut up unless you want to be kissed again. 's not like you've anything to complain about, anyway. You won't be arrested."

"[But the ICPO... damn my fucking luck, dammit, this fucking *hurts*...]"

"[You complain more than a pregnant woman with a backache,]" Christoph observed wryly.

Dorian glanced to his ex-lover, trying very hard not to smile. "Shh... both of you. I'm not about to turn over to the wankers at Interpol a man who's helped me twice now; who is for all intents and purposes on NATO's payroll. Better a military hospital, where I can have some influence."

"[Fine,]" Klaus rumbled tensely, taking a tight hiss of breath when the next bump was hit, and the van peeled to a stop just in front of the guardhouse.

A few suspicious guards were already approaching the van, guns at half-ready, when Dorian climbed to the front again and *over* a protesting Z to get out. "[Major Dorian Red Gloria, NATO Intelligence out of London. Identification number 55532011-6135,]" he barked, snapping a salute with a hand that was bloody. "[Get on the ringer and call my office *now*. I have wounded men and need use of the base medical facilities.]"

"[Stop the van here, we'll carry them in, then confirm that you're right,]" the highest ranking man there ordered his men and Z.

A nod of the blonde head, and Dorian pulled Z around to the back doors with the request of, "[Come, help me get them out.]" But once the opened doors afforded a bit of privacy he leaned close, nearly brushing the boy's ear with his lips as he added, "[You might want to quietly leave when you get the chance. I can't keep an eye on you and Panzer both, and I don't want anyone in any trouble that can be avoided.]"

"[As soon as possible,]" Z promised as he smiled at Christoph, and moved to help the old man. Leaving Eroica to deal with Klaus again.

A hand gently placed to Panzer's cheek brought pain-clenched eyes wide, and Dorian asked softly, "Think you can stand? Otherwise I'll get help carrying you."

"I c'n stand," was the almost pathetic answer, as he started to sit up, though slowly. He *Wanted* to stand, just as if to prove that he was okay.

An arm around Klaus' shoulders coaxed him farther, as Dorian tried to ignore the soft whimper of pain that left the man's clenched teeth.

"Help me stand," Klaus finally asked, as he got to his knees.

"Like this...?" Klaus' good arm around his neck, Dorian began to take his feet, pulling the thief with him.

A soft grunt left the thief, but he nodded hazily, standing like that, and moving on unsteady legs out the back of the van, all under the major's guidance.

"That's good, Klaus. Easy, now..." More encouragement, a near-steady stream of it now from the Major, as he watched Klaus' face closely for signs that he was pushing too hard.

Not a thing crossed that handsome face, as they passed through the front gate, other than flickers of pain. He was managing, though, well it seemed until his knees gave.

Almost expecting it of the stubborn, prideful Panzer, Dorian managed to catch him around the waist and lower him to the ground. "[I need some help with him!]" he called back to the guard post. "[Bring a cart or something!]"

"[If that's a bullet shot, there isn't time,]" One of the guards said, moving forwards. "[Just carry him quickly!]"

"[Where?]" With the help of two guards, Klaus was picked up and rushed, military-style, toward a low building one of them pointed out. There was little to do but stay close, and trust Z and Christoph to follow.

And then trust Z to make himself *scarce* and quick -- to take the van and leave!

That was almost too much trusting for Eroica to have to do.

~~~~~

"Give me that!"

A frustrated Eroica snatched the cigarette from between Panzer's lips, and scowled at the thing in consternation. "Honestly -- I don't know *how* you keep smuggling these in here, but you know you're not supposed to be smoking!" Though that hardly prevented the Major from taking a large puff as he wandered away to resume pacing.

"Then why the hell are you smoking?" Klaus snapped unhappily. "If I'm not supposed to smoke, you're damn well not going to do it around me!!"

"It's going into my lungs, not yours," Dorian replied sweetly as he blew a languid ring of smoke.

"God dammit. When the fuck am I going to be released?" Klaus sighed, staring forlornly at the cigarette.

"[You're not going home yet?]" was the subdued question from the door, as Christoph somehow managed the oversized handle by using more his wrists than his bandaged hands that looked like giant white mittens. "[I thought you would be released before me.]"

"[It's just to torture me,]" Klaus murmured as he looked up -- and managed a slight smile for Christoph. "[Sit down?]"

Christoph almost balked, with a glance that looked plainly uncomfortable as it wavered between Eroica and Panzer -- names he was having a difficult time associating with the men. But he was being discharged, and it was his last chance to get answers, if he could make himself stop shunning their company long enough. "[I- Thank you.]" He took the bedside chair, uncomfortably fidgeting as he tried to arrange his hands in his lap.

"[Oh, damn. You've discovered my plan,]" Eroica drawled at Panzer, as he took another draw on the rich, unfiltered cigarette. "[I decided it best to try to convince you to work with me in the future by cooping you up in a small room and confiscating your cigarettes. Figured that would put you into a fine, agreeable mood.]"

"[It's failing,]" Klaus all but growled, making a sad attempt, half dive, to snatch it from Eroica. "[Are you better now, Christoph?]"

"[Does this look better?]" the elder man questioned wryly, motioning with a hand. "[I can't even dress myself, let alone eat a meal without wearing half of it!!]" Oh, and *how* he was missing 'David'! He would have helped him to dress in the mornings, and would have fed him little pieces of food with his fingers.

But 'David' was sitting there, so *different* and so much more confident than the boy who'd been with him had ever been. Just as Klaus seemed so much *sharper* -- and without argument cruder! -- as 'Panzer'.

"[Ah, but you can smoke. And you need to stop taking my damn smokes, Dorian!]"

Oh, it probably wasn't a wise thing to do, and Eroica understandably sidled just far enough out of reach before doing it. But, against wisdom and sense he smirked, and challenged, "[Make me.]"

There was a moment of silence that hung heavy in the room -- hung, at least, until Klaus shrugged and reached a hand up into his pillow case to pull free another cigarette, which he lit off a match that was tucked up under the bedside stand. "[Take this one and I'll clock you.]"

/So, that's your move.../ Dorian paced another few steps before halting at the foot of the bed, and leaned over the foot-board in a casually threatening manner. "[Put it out, Darling, or I'll tattle to Nurse Brot.]" He would do it, too. Several days of suffering Eroica's company while recuperating had taught Panzer a lot about the man's personality. Fluffy and frivolous, formidable when he finally got serious.

Klaus took two long, deep breaths of the soothing smoke, and then carefully snubbed the tip. "All right," he exhaled in a wicked smoky smile, equally challenging as he folded his arms over his chest. "[I suppose, Christoph, you want an explanation...?]"

"[It had better be a damned good one,]" the older man sighed, his mouth a tight, unhappy line. "[I don't like being lied to, being used, or having things hidden from me.]"

"[I don't think, Christoph, that you've got much ground to stand on in that matter -- For all that you were hiding from me that you were queer, let alone a soviet sympathiser,]" Klaus drawled, lips thinning a little. "['David' is really Major Dorian Red Gloria of NATO, intelligence.]"

"[It can't be considered 'hiding' when I was honest about it, open for the entire world to notice save you!]" One thing Christoph would not stand for was a lecture from the boy he'd practically helped to raise. "[But I see that you've managed to deal with the revelation just fine -- just as I said you would. Well enough to decide that you're the same way, and that it's perfectly all right to flirt with Dav- *Dorian* right in front of me!]" A foolish, hurtful thing to say, though he felt marginally less jealous for having said it.

"[Flirt?]" Klaus looked over to Dorian, then back to Christoph, looking for all the world like he'd been shot again. "[I'm not...!!]"

"[And you're no better!]" Christoph growled at Dorian, completely ignoring the other man's weak protest. "[Damn it -- I cared for you! I w-was planning on you being with me, for a long time...]"

There was no other answer for Dorian to give but a regretful, "[I know. I'm sorry.]"

"[If it's any consolation, Christoph, I knew him before this,]" Klaus sighed, closing his yes for the moment before he contemplated re-lighting his snubbed out cigarette.

"[It isn't a fucking consolation!]" the man snapped. "[Nothing can be, when something too perfect to be true turns out not to be, and is taken from you. And now I have to fucking be alone again!]"

Klaus looked stunned, but only shrugged in the end, a tense thing. "[There isn't anything I can do.]"

"[Christoph...]" Unbelievably, as he approached near Dorian looked decidedly hurt by the unkind words. "[Please -- I didn't mean for it to turn out like this. Not at all.]"

"[No -- you weren't supposed to be kidnapped by your Stasi friends, and David was simply supposed to leave,]" Klaus murmured. "[After all, the break into your safe went perfectly.]"

Christoph's jaw fell open in horror, before snapping shut, *hard*. "[So... I'd blamed that on David, but I suppose it would have been you. No one else would have been interested in a useless packet of old letters. Or was I not supposed to notice that someone had read them, returned them to the safe in the wrong order?]"

Klaus looked stunned, for the second time in too short a period, and slammed his head back against the headboard. "['m a fucking idiot...]"

"[A damned snoop and thief, too!]" Christoph exploded. "[Those were private!!]"

"[It was father's hand-writing, I was curious... and of course I'm a thief!]" That last part was almost laughed through the spike of pain he got from hitting his head.

"[Couldn't trust my lover... Couldn't even trust my the man I've known since before he could walk.]" For a moment Christoph's frustrated, angered shell slipped, and tears threatened until they were roughly rubbed from faded blue eyes. "[Couldn't trust your father, either. Am I the only one who never sees how alone I am?]"

"[Christoph...]" Klaus frowned at the pacing agent, then looked back to Christoph, then down. "[This is something I was pulled into without any warning. I wasn't... I didn't want to see you hurt -- but there were lives on the line for what you were giving the Stasi.]"

Silence from the older man, while he studied his mitten hands in his lap and battled more tears. "[Do you think I don't realise that now? I thought I was doing right. You know I wouldn't intentionally harm anyone! I had no idea, the s-sort of people-]"

"[Christoph...]" It simply wasn't right that a person Dorian cared for had been hurt, mostly by Dorian himself, and that Dorian couldn't even get close enough to try to ease it a little. Because when he tried...

"[Don't touch me! Don't you *dare* ever look at me like that again!!]"

"[Calm down and listen for a second, Christoph,]" Klaus asked -- funny, how when he was trying to be the voice off reason that it seemed to strike so much harder. "[There was a reason behind what he did, even if it was a horrible way to do it.]"

"[ 's no good, Klaus,]" the Major mumbled sadly, as he withdrew his outreached hand. "[He's right. I haven't the right to care, after such a betrayal. It was necessary, and I don't regret what I did. But I do regret letting some truth slip into the pretence. It was a mistake, one as an agent I can't afford to make again.]"

"[Truth?]" Now it was Klaus' turn to look in credulous, asking pointedly, "[Where?]"

"[You're lying,]" Christoph spat, failing to muster any real malice.

Dorian accepted the accusation demurely. "[As you say.]"

"[I don't think this argument is getting either of you anywhere,]" Klaus said helpfully.

It was, oddly, that final well-intended remark which drove Christoph to leap up and stalk from the room, slamming the door firmly behind him.

And, even more oddly, Dorian every bit as upset as the older man had been, as he slowly lowered himself into the vacated bedside chair. "[Of course you wouldn't understand,]" he quietly uttered, as, even in his smart wool Major's uniform, he somehow managed to pull his amply long legs into the chair with him, tucking his knees beneath his chin. "[Those arguments never 'go' anywhere. There is nowhere for parted lovers *to* go. Back is impossible; forward means separate ways.]"

"[I wouldn't know,]" Klaus murmured quietly. He decided then, too, to start smoking another cigarette, calm nerves rattled by what he'd just watched. Other times he would have been amused to see a man with broken hands slamming a door, now... Now he felt disgusted at himself for being worried, when Christoph... would... might.... possibly... be perfectly fine. "[I'll make sure he's all right when I get back home.]"

"[Thank you,]" Dorian was mildly surprised to hear himself say, when he ought to be pointing out the uselessness of such a gesture, when Klaus clearly couldn't tell 'all right' from 'very badly hurt' as far as soured relationships went. "[It- Oh, this is going to sound stupid,]" he growled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Maybe. Hasn't stopped you before," Klaus sighed, switching back to English as if that would prod Dorian into being more forthcoming. He lit up another smuggled cigarette, too, murmuring around a breath of smoke, "So say it."

Dorian really wished Panzer would choose a language and stick with it! All this switching was making him dizzy, rather like bedding a partner who wouldn't hold one position long enough to complete the act. "Always before I've been laughed at, when I've said things like this. So, don't bother laughing too hard, Darling, because I know it's coming and that ruins the effect. But I- I really do care for Christoph. I haven't enjoyed anyone's company so much in quite a long time. I wish that it could be me watching over him, but I'm glad someone will be."

He didn't get laughter -- he got Klaus looking oddly thoughtful, then nodded. "All right. I'll tell him as much, when you damned people let me out of here."

"Broken record," Dorian reminded, the jest returning a tenuous smile to his lips. "Do I have to remind you again what the doctors said? You were luck to be alive at all when we brought you in, much less cussing and trying to walk! Very lucky..." And very strong!

"'m built like tank," Klaus said in a smoky breath. "It doesn't matter to me. I feel fine now -- I'm fine and Christoph's alive."

/You're recovering, and Christoph's hurt,/ Dorian wanted to argue, but didn't. Instead he reminded, "You'll have another scar." Another, because the times he'd seen the German man's chest bared he'd counted no fewer than a half-dozen notable ones. "The pity is that you won't think of me when you see it in the mirror, as I think of you when I see the one on my ankle."

"I think of you when I see my empty holster -- I think that's enough," Klaus drawled, relaxing fairly visibly as he continued smoking. "You didn't shoot me. I think it's better for you that I don't have a *wound* to 'remember you by.' I've killed every last person who's hurt me."

"I would be the first," Dorian was positive, "Because I would never purposefully hurt you. So even if through some circumstance I did, you would know my good intentions, and not try to kill me in retribution." He added with a slight smirk, "It would probably help that I would be very, sincerely sorry."

"Sorry... sometimes doesn't work enough," the thief pointed out with a nod of his head to the door, and a slowly in-drawn breath of smoke.

Dorian's face twisted into a scowl, in no small part caused by embarrassment. "Sorry would have been plenty, if I'd gotten to handle things the way I'd wanted to. But thank you so very much for driving home *again* how I've hurt poor Christoph."

"I've known him for longer and he probably things I'm completely immoral and just a horrible human being," Klaus shrugged. "He'll get over both."

If he'd been trying to cheer the Briton any, it didn't work. "You *are* completely immoral and horrible, Darling," Dorian pointed out dryly. "And it does my heart so much good to think that I've sunk to your level."

"Considering your line of work, you shouldn't be offended. You're no different from me, really, only you draw a government paycheck," Klaus smiled wickedly.

"Oh...?" The blonde questioned, lifting his chin in marginal interest. "So, what Christoph said, about you deciding that you're like him... That's true? I didn't realise we had so *much* in common."

"I..." Klaus tapped a bit of ash off the tip of his cigarette, into the bedpan he completely refused to use, and sighed tensely. "I'm still working through that."

"So kissing me wasn't such a bad thing...?" The unexpected revelation had gone a long way towards lifting Dorian's spirits. He was grinning as he offered, "If you want more help 'working' through it, you know where to turn, Darling. As a spy, I can be extremely discreet."

Klaus' frown deepened, but he finally pulled forth a good retort, that spilled forth with a final breath of smoke from the cigarette. "Who me? I'm an ill man, Major Gloria -- sick, sick, and if I'm not allowed to smoke yet..."

"Suddenly you're awfully anxious to obey the rules," Dorian observed dryly, as he set his chin back on his knees. The smirk on his lips refused to fade, would probably be set there for the next week at least, confounding his men. Panzer's resistances had weakened further and faster than expected, and before much longer Eroica *would* own the man's affections.

But it really was best to step back for a while and enjoy the unexpected, lingering truce. Anything to prolong the enjoyment of the chase just an extra little bit...

After all, Panzer, too, was smiling as he shrugged and lit up another cigarette.

"Oh, and one last thing -- your fee. You'll have to come round the London office to settle it. The name of the man to ask for is Agent James. And Darling...? Good Luck."

God knew he was going to need it!


End file.
